


Year of the Snake: The Serpent's Son

by SA Bouraleh (SharmakeBouraleh)



Series: The Sheathing of the Sword [1]
Category: A Tale of Legends, Original Work, The Sheathing of the Sword
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Comedy, Drama, Epic, Fantasy, Fluff, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Multi, Mystery, Mythology - Freeform, Mythology References, Romance, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 98,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3713728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharmakeBouraleh/pseuds/SA%20Bouraleh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What starts with a sudden kidnapping reveals to be so much more: a prophetic call to adventure that had been foretold ages before the heroes of this story came around. In a world where the only thing extraordinary is the amount of unengaging ordinariness, below the seemingly mundane surface lies an incredible, lavish secret world that not many are privy to. From Whisperers of Death, to Dragons, to Kabuki Creatures and ghoulish Zombies, those aware of this hidden reality have fantastical journeys and adventurous trials lying in wait for them. </p><p>Some seek to rescue a kidnapped friend and distribute justice while keeping malevolent forces at bay. Others plot to eliminate the existence of those pesky do-gooders, plans of conquesting combat and corrupting those that stand in their way. Others still just happened to be caught up in the cross-fire, and they are NOT happy about it.</p><p>Whatever actions they take and consequences they face, at the end of the day, the sword shall always be sheathed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Banshees and Babies and Blood Ties, Oh My!

**Author's Note:**

> Dedication: To my beloved parents, who had the patience and understanding support to banish the shadows within my soul with their loving light. Thank you.
> 
>  
> 
> Key Quote:  
> “A journey of a thousand miles begins with but a single step.” - Chinese Proverb  
> Lao Tzu, The Way of Lao Tzu  
> Chinese philosopher
> 
> ***
> 
> Hi. I'm honestly just here to get you invested in new characters and a new world before destroying the last vestiges of your humanity and capacity to feel.
> 
> Cheers!

 

The blood-curdling, banshee-worthy screams from the delivery room only caused the Japanese man to smile in anticipation.

 

It was happening. He was going to be a father. Again. His wife was giving birth, and though he wasn’t strong enough to stomach watching – _‘Indeed,’_ he thought, ‘ _women are undoubtedly the strong ones.’_ – He couldn’t wait for when he could be called in and witness the life he had helped to create. To cradle the child he had sired – his second-born child.

 

It struck him as odd how, despite having gone through the process once before and thinking he’d be well familiar and acquainted with the sensations, he was just as baffled and nervous as the first time. When his first child had been born, a boy they had named Kenji after an old family friend, he had thought the novelty of being a father would be worn out after a few days. Between the baby boy crying at all hours of the night and day, being a fussy eater, wailing like a banshee every time he tried to pick him up, and every attempt to change Kenji’s diaper leading to his wondering whether or not his son moonlighted as a world leader in manure manufacture, he quickly realized that baby-raising was a job the workers for whom were overworked and underpaid, not to mention underappreciated. His first taste of fatherhood had drastically raised his respect for parents whose priorities gravitated towards their children.

 

They lived that picture-perfect life as a happy new family for two years. Kenji had grown to become a curious and clever child. Despite his intelligence and both parents’ constant presence and affection, it was plain to see he was becoming lonely. His wife had insisted on at least one other child, so that even if they couldn’t be around Kenji, he would at least have someone. _‘When we are dead and gone,’_ she had argued, ‘ _Kenji will need someone to hold onto. A support system. Giving him siblings will give him many blessings. No child of mine shall be alone. And it will be good for the child or children if there are more after him. Just one more lantern to light up our lives, don’t you think, Anata?’_

 

He didn’t disagree, and when she called him ‘dear’ like that, he found he couldn’t refuse her. And so, it came about after two years of a small family that consisted of a father, mother and son, they began to prepare to welcome a new member to their family. It wasn’t long before his wife was pregnant, and the child was due sometime in mid-June. Kenji, once he had heard that he was to have a younger sibling, was ecstatic and began practicing his elder brotherly skills by taking care of the family cat, Aiko. She didn’t seem to be amused in the slightest.

 

Nearly nine months had passed, and with the waning of spring and breaking of summer, the man found himself at the hospital, pacing the corridor and listening to the wails of his obviously-in-agony wife, and smiling with each screech. She was a tough woman, and he knew she wouldn’t die in childbirth. If she were, he’d know.

 

“You know, Keisuke, when you said you really needed my help, I didn’t exactly think baby-sitting your kid was what you meant. If I had known, I’d have stayed home and rewatched _Scream._ ”

 

Seated to his right, a woman of flaming red hair and soulful, brilliant green eyes looked at him balefully, painted red lips posed in a scowl. She wore an emerald, laced corset that was overlaid with a black hooded cloak with a green interior. The hood was down. A matching emerald skirt flowed from her waist, mingling with the lengthy cloak. She possessed an emerald brooch inlaid a golden exterior, wrapped elegantly around her slender neck on a black choker. She had Kenji wrapped safely in her cloak, snuggling him up to her ample bosom as he slept.

 

Keisuke chuckled. “Apologies, Siobhán-san, but you’re here for more than one reason. Baby-sitting is just the easier favour of the two to ask for. By the way, what’s _Scream?_ ”

 

“A movie that isn’t out yet,” she replied. “I got a bootleg copy recorded by an oracle when I beat her in a game of Switch.” She eyed him as if she knew the reason he called her. “Aye, I figured my skills would come in handy here.”

 

The wailing came from the delivery room again, the horrible shriek renting the air. Keisuke smiled, and Siobhán winced. “Jeez, that’s annoying. I imagine it must be even worse for you when my kind does it. Is that how all banshees sound? I might have to tell my sisters to adapt to the upcoming twenty-first century and just start texting people polite reminders when they’re about to die.” At Keisuke’s puzzled expression, she simply said, “It’s going to be big, so says that oracle.” He made a mental note not to question it.

 

“She’s been in there a long time, hasn’t she?” Keisuke mused, spotting the tell-tale glow of the sun on the horizon out the window, worry starting to grip him. Siobhán waved him off.

 

“She’s in labour. She’s not going anywhere for quite some time.” Glancing around the lobby, she noticed male and female nurses rushing about, transporting newly born babies to their incubators. “Though are you sure I should be here? It seems kind of counter-intuitive, in my opinion. A herald of death in a place of blossoming life? I can’t help but feel as though that’s the punchline to a rather bad bar joke.”

 

“Where there is life, there is death. Where there is death, there is life.” Keisuke’s smile became smaller, sadder, as his eyebrows knit together. “There will be many women who will give birth to children not alive. There will be many mothers who are mothers for mere moments. There will be many women who die and children who die. Even so, there will be children who live despite all the odds. Children born prematurely and with little chance of survival who pull through anyways. Mothers who are on the cusp of death after birth but refuse to leave their children behind. As some leave this life, others enter it. As some enter it, some leave. Life and Death are intertwined, and you’re every bit as welcome here as anyone else.”

 

Siobhán gave a grudging smile. “Oi, I do hate it when you get all philosophical on me. You and your _yin and yang_ concepts, equivalent exchange and what not. One can only take so much of that before they want to scream.”

 

Keisuke returned her grin, her banshee joke not escaping his notice. “If anything went wrong, I’d know. Your spontaneous wailing would tip me off and I would rescue my wife and child before anything can hurt them.”

 

“Right,” Siobhán confirmed, “but I wouldn’t know when this happens. It’s purely unconscious on my part, though I do get an aura immediately before the urge hits me. It’s sort of like a supernatural, killer migraine, except the death is not mine. That said, I do know whose death is imminent when I wail. Though you’d probably barrel off to save her before I could even tell you whose death I prophesized. As you said, this is a hospital, and as such is a breeding ground for where life and death meet. You won’t know whose death I’m seeing unless I tell you, though you and your big damn heroes complex would probably rush off before I could.”

 

 A mischievous grin from the man was all she needed to see to confirm he was as knuckle-headed as she described. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder when he could hold his wife again and his new child for the first time. “Perhaps I should beseech the help of Jizo,” he mused aloud. “Perhaps it will help ease it for her.”

 

Siobhán shook her head. “If you want a deity to pray to for this, I’d suggest Lady Hera’s girl, Eileithyia. From what I hear, she’s the best in the business. You’d be best off asking Lady Hera’s permission to send the best damn midwife you could ask for.”

 

Keisuke considered taking her advice, but before he could, yet another scream rented the air – this one caused even Siobhán to clamp her hands over her ears. “Jeez,” the banshee muttered, “quite the set of lungs on that girl.” She sounded impressed. “You’re sure she’s not part-banshee? You know I have a distant little cousin by the name of Florence Welch. She’s part banshee and very keen on music. Just you wait, she’ll use her ethereal, wailing banshee vocals and become a massive hit.”

 

“Takeshi-san?” came a hesitant voice. Keisuke turned to find a timid-looking young man at his side, decked in a nurse’s outfit. Keisuke was surprised – the young man’s mousy appearance and quiet presence had startled him; it wasn’t often that someone could sneak up on him. He wondered how long the man had been there. He looked very nervous, hands trembling, and Keisuke briefly wondered if this was his first shift or delivery, before considering the possibility that something had gone wrong.

 

“Yes?” he confirmed, doing his best to put on a soothing voice and approachable demeanour, so as to not rattle the young nurse’s nerves any more.

 

“I was s-sent to inform you that everything is going well and your wife is fine and that the baby will come soon and not to worry,” he said quickly, as though wishing to finish as soon as possible and draw away from the other man’s presence.

 

Eyeing him with a keen look, Keisuke nodded. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, bowing in deference to the young male nurse. “I truly appreciate your hard work and efforts to secure the safety of my wife and unborn child. I’m sure your father and mother are very proud of you.”

 

The young man avoided eye contact, shy or upset, and Keisuke absently mused how the boy before him reminded him of his own brother. Keisuke knelt down to look the young man in the eyes who first avoided his gaze before returning it.

 

“What is your name?”

 

“Kai,” said the nurse.

 

“I’m sorry, Kai-san” Keisuke offered. “Is this your first time?”

 

The boy blushed, still staring at the ground to avoid meeting the older man’s gaze. “Is it that obvious?”

 

“I’m just a very keen observer,” Keisuke soothed him. “Did I upset you?”

 

“My mother…” the boy murmured, “…she was a doctor. I wished to follow in her footsteps, to become a doctor myself…but I was never good enough…never… _smart_ enough…I failed the entrance exams, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking and my heart was pounding and I couldn’t see straight, but everyone… _everyone_ seemed to know what they were doing…I had studied so hard, so long…but I couldn’t. I couldn’t become a doctor like my mother. I couldn’t save her when she succumbed to her ovarian cancer. I couldn’t follow in her footsteps. But…” his voice was quiet, but took on a convicted tone, “I couldn’t become a complete failure. The best I could do was become a nurse, put my knowledge to good use, and earn experience and skills while studying in my free time to try to ace the entrance exams this time around and make my mother proud while making a difference as well.”

 

Keisuke nodded, sympathetic and understanding of Kai’s plight. He knew it would sound insincere, and Kai probably had heard it all before, but he said, “I’m sorry to hear about your mother. Clearly, she was a woman of might and influence if she raised a son as fine as yourself. I hope to have a child half as ambitious and kind as you.” He offered Kai a proud smile. “And your father?”

 

Unfortunately, that query only seemed to sully whatever brief good feeling Keisuke’s words seemed to give him. “He…is not so supportive. He thinks it a woman’s job, that a man should be the doctor in charge, not the nurse who assists.”

 

Giving the boy a questioning look, silently asking permission to reach out and clasp his shoulder in support, he did so when the young man shyly nodded his assent. “Kai, you are making a difference. You are helping people who need help. You are spending your time and effort and dedicating your life to assisting others and making them comfortable and helping give them a new lease on life and get better and another chance at another day. You are a _hero_.” He squeezed Kai’s shoulder lightly. “Do you know what your name means?”

 

Kai turned uncertain eyes to Keisuke’s convicted ones. “Restoration. Recovery.”

“Right. It’s even in your name. It’s who you are; you were born for this. Your destiny is here, and I can tell you’ve got a long, bright future ahead of you. You’ll make one hell of a doctor.” His lips quirked in a proud smirk. “Doctor Kai. I can see it now. You’re already doing me a huge service by soothing my fears regarding my wife and child, and you are an incredibly important member of the team. _Arigatou gozaimasu,_ Kai-san. I can’t wait to see what miraculous and wondrous medical achievements you obtain with hard work and dedication and the confidence in yourself and your abilities. I would be lucky if I had a child half so pure as you.”

 

Kai gave a small, tremulous smile. He brushed back some tears. “ _A…Arigatou gozaimasu_ , Takeshi-san.” Then, remembering where he was, he began to panic. “Ah--! I was only supposed to tell you that they are okay! _Gomen nasai,_ Takeshi-san! I apologize for taking up your time.”

 

“It’s quite alright, Kai-san,” Keisuke said good-naturedly. “I enjoyed this chat with you. You may not realize it, but you’ve helped me quite a bit today. So thank _you_.”

 

“Ah, there you are, Kai!” A benevolent woman, young yet matronly, came forth, wearing a variation of the standard nurse uniform. “Have you informed Takeshi-san of the news?”

 

“H-Hai!” he confirmed, bowing slightly in deference to the woman.

 

“No need for such formalities, little brother,” the young woman chided. Casting a glance at Keisuke, she added, “Was Kai-san being respectful and polite?” Her tone took a sudden sharp turn.

 

Surprised, Keisuke nodded his assent. “Yes, he has been most helpful. He was very reassuring and professional. I felt very welcomed and informed. He’s excellent at his job; a natural.”

 

The woman laughed. “Yes, I know. I was just teasing Kai-chan.” She ruffled his hair. “Mother would be proud.”

 

“Ch-Chiyo…” Kai protested, embarrassed. Chiyo simply smiled.

“The Deputy Head Nurse, Ms. Wulford is looking for you,” she said, pointing over to a smiling Caucasian woman with a brilliant presence and glowing smile. She seemed genuinely happy and helpful, an aura of joy radiating from her. Spotting Kai, she gestured for him to come hurry after her, intent on showing him the ins-and-outs of nursing.

 

Before Kai scurried over to her side, Keisuke caught him by the sleeve and gave him a great smile and bowed. “You did well for your first time. A real natural. I’m expecting big things from you, when you’re ready.”

 

And for the first time, Kai gave a small, tremulous, but nonetheless genuine smile before bowing back and rushing to join his superior.

 

Chiyo watched him go with a look of pride. “He’s going to be something wonderful someday, don’t you think?”

 

Keisuke nodded. “Indeed. He has talents he knows not. He has so much potential. He’s a journey before him and what an interesting one it will be.”

 

“Oi, Keisuke,” interrupted Siobhán said, raising Kenji away from her while scrunching up her nose, “how do I know when the little leanbh has wet himself?”

 

Keisuke was spared from answering when the doctor came in, a Caucasian in his early 30’s, Reuben Montgomery. A well-respected doctor who operated out of many offices, he had come at the behest of his old friend, Keisuke Takeshi.

 

“False alarm!” Siobhán murmured triumphantly as Chiyo excused herself, certain that Kenji hadn’t soiled his clothes.

 

The man strode forward, gave Keisuke a firm handshake, and then drew him into a hug, laughing.

 

“Keisuke Takeshi! It’s been far too long. You’re lucky I love you, you bastard. Not many people I would cut my vacation early for, so I had hope you’d appreciate this!”

 

“To have the best male obstetrician and gynecologist do me a personal favour and tend to my wife? Absolutely, I’m appreciative!” Keisuke laughed and patted his friend’s back.

 

Siobhán made a subtle coughing noise, and Reuben turned his gaze towards her. “Oh, well if it isn’t the Wailing Woman,” Reuben remarked dryly. “Are all the karaoke bars closed, then? Couldn’t find a babysitter among the _living_ , so you stuck with the banshee, is that it, Keisuke?”

 

“Rubik’s cube,” Siobhán replied. “Nice to see you too, you irritable old geezer.”

 

“Geezer?” Reuben scoffed. “I’m barely 30, she-witch. You know very well I don’t like death and destruction in my place of work, when I’m busy trying to bring life into this world.”

 

Siobhán waved him off. “For a grown man, you’re awfully catty. You do realize death is necessary to necessitate more life? You see enough of it every day to know better.”

 

Reuben snorted. “Of course you’d mention cats. Didn’t have anything better to do, like kick black cats or break mirrors or walk under ladders?”

 

Siobhán raised a flaming eyebrow. “I look like a witch to you, do I?” Eyeing Keisuke, she added, “I wouldn’t leave my child in the care of this one. Doesn’t know the difference between a banshee and a witch, might not know the difference between a living baby and a dead one.”

 

Reuben made to retort, but Keisuke gave them both exasperated looks. “Can’t you both get along, at least until Keiko and my child are okay?”

 

The obstetrician cleared his throat. “If you listen closely, you can hear your wife’s screams have ceased, and have been replaced by the wailing of something else. That something else, Keisuke, is your son.”

 

Keisuke gasped, and collapsed backwards onto the seat beside Siobhán. He looked dazed, limbs slack as he stared forward. “Son…” he murmured faintly. “I have another son…”

 

“Aye, you’re a father for the second time around,” Siobhán grinned. “Congratulations, and all that.”

 

It felt as though every bone in his body had liquefied, and his muscles didn’t seem to respond to his commands. “You didn’t wail,” he murmured, relieved. “They’re alive and okay. They’re okay.”

 

Siobhán nudged him. “Well, go on, then. Go see your wife and your newborn leanbh. I’ll take care of Kenji here, go on.” She gave him a warm smile, rocking Kenji gently. “Tell your son that his Aintín Siobhán says hello. The doctor and I will give you three some space.”

 

“In case you wanted to know,” Reuben added, “His due date was June 12th, but he was born six days ahead of schedule. His birth certificate will have today’s date: June 6th, 1992. Time of birth was 6:00 PM on the dot. Birth was viewed and verified by a couple of midwives, all who shall sign the document. He appears to be healthy, with no malformed extremities or internals as far as we can tell. You’re a lucky man, Keisuke. Of course, there’s some documents you have to si—”

 

“Are you daft, man?” Siobhán snapped. “Can’t you tell he doesn’t care about your blathering? Let the man see his family. Go on, Keisuke, shoo. Go view that bright ray of sunshine.”

 

Keisuke nodded gratefully, finally finding his strength. He half-walked half-ran to the delivery room, slowing down as he came within reach of the door. Knocking, he poked his head in and peaked to see if his wife was awake. She had been gazing at the squirming boy with such tenderness and warmth, swaddled in a blue blanket. He was wailing at the top of his little lungs, and Keisuke felt immense pride and joy, striding into the room as Keiko glanced up at him with the same tender love.

 

“He’s certainly his mother’s son,” Keisuke remarked, putting on a front of cool, calm collectedness. On the inside, he was terrified and electrified and feeling so many conflicting, paradoxical sensations simultaneously. “He’s got your lungs.”

 

Keiko gave a breathy laugh. “I’d like to see you bear a child without the help of anaesthetics and try not to sound as hypersonic as Siobhán. I don’t know how she does it, my vocals feel as though they’re shredded.”

 

Keisuke leaned in and placed a hand on his wife’s head and his son’s body. “He’s so…tiny,” Keisuke marveled, watching his youngest son in wonder. “Was Kenji this small?”

 

“No, this one is definitely smaller. Kenji was seven pounds, nine ounces. This little one is four pounds, five ounces. Much smaller than his older brother.”

 

Keisuke simply caressed his son’s face tenderly, amazed at what he had helped to create. His son. This boy was his son. His youngest boy. Tears welled up in his eyes, streaming down his cheeks freely. He was not ashamed. It was okay to cry. If one could not cry at this living miracle, their own flesh and blood, then Keisuke did not know what to think. He looked at his wife, who had been gazing at him, tears clouding her eyes as well. They smiled so brilliantly at each other, and Keisuke leaned in to kiss the love of his life.

 

Keiko gave him a tender peck, but winced as she leaned forward. Leaning back, she gave a great gasp, pain radiating across her features. Keisuke frowned. “Are you in pain?” he asked, fearing for his wife’s comfort.

 

“It’s nothing, Anata,” she whispered, cuddling the boy closer to her. All the while, the boy had been crying and Keiko offered him a small pacifier to sate him. “I’m simply very tired. I have a great need for sleep.”

 

“Shall I summon for Hypnos? He owes me a few favours, I could ask him to grant you dreamless sleep while you recuperate.”

 

“Perhaps later.” Keiko’s gaze turned back to the suckling child. “First, we must name him.”

 

“Any ideas?”

 

Keiko pondered, gazing into her son’s eyes as she considered. “His eyes are so dark, so deep. Though no one has black eyes, perhaps we should name him Kurome – black eye.”

 

“Too similar to the evil eye, I think,” Keisuke commented. “Perhaps Keiji?”

 

“I have a creepy cousin named Keiji. I’d rather not have people confuse them.” After a few moments more, she added, “What do you think of Kyoji? Kyo for short.”

 

“Kyoji,” Keisuke said, as though getting a feel for the name with his tongue. “Simple. Similar enough to Kenji. Can be nicknamed Kyo-kun.” He grinned. “I like it.”

 

“Our little Kyo,” Keiko murmured, brushing her lips against her baby’s forehead in a kiss. “Our bundle of joy.”

 

“Next time we have kids, we’ll think ahead for names. If it’s a boy, we’ll name him Kyosuke. If it’s a girl, how about Kyoko?”

 

“We are _not_ having children for a while,” Keiko murmured. She stifled a yawn. “Not for a long while.”

 

Keisuke grinned. “Deal. But we’re still gonna have more.”

 

Keiko didn’t respond.

 

‘ _She’s tired,’_ Keisuke figured. He brushed the stray hairs from her bangs to the side, planting a kiss on her forehead. He picked up Kyo from her hands, and coddled him close to his chest, bobbing and shaking him gently as he moved his arms to and fro. “Kyo, my second child, my beloved boy, welcome to the world.” It wasn’t long before Kyo was fast asleep, and Keisuke removed the pacifier. Looking at his son’s small, pink face, Keisuke murmured, “Welcome to your first night on earth.”

 

A horrible wailing shook the building, and Keisuke’s blood ran cold. _No._

 

Siobhán was shrieking her banshee’s wail. That meant…it had to mean…death.

 

Instantly, Keisuke’s mind reeled towards how Keiko hadn’t responded to him. He had assumed she fell asleep – it was only logical, as childbirth was excruciating and tiring. He had brought along Siobhán to act as a warning sign so he could deter Death should it seek to claim either his wife or child. A banshee’s wail was an ominous portent of doom, and only the banshee herself knew who the soon-to-be-deceased was.

 

Keisuke rushed to his wife’s side, placing his finger under her nostrils to check for breath. He felt air, soft and slow. His wife was fine. Glancing towards his son, he saw his tiny chest rise and fall just fine.

 

A world of worry melted away from Keisuke; his family was safe. A moment later, it hit him – _Kenji._

 

Instantly the man rushed into action, cursing himself for momentarily forgetting his firstborn, racing down the halls to where he had last left Kenji with Siobhán and Dr. Montgomery. The doctor was nowhere to be found, but he found Siobhán still seated, clinging the baby. She sat frozen, immobile as a vacant look in her eyes indicated she was in her banshee state. Her eyes became pure white, the emerald irises no longer visible. Her face elongated, skin turning a sickly shade of gray. She appeared more ethereal, insubstantial, but she still managed to keep a hold on Kenji. Her flowing red hair quickly turned gray, dishevelled, giving her a much older appearance, as though she were really seven hundred years old. An unearthly glow emanated from her. She was still wailing, blank eyes focused off in the distance, consumed by the visions of death, unaware of her immediate surroundings.

 

Keisuke wrestled Kenji from Siobhán’s iron grip, and made sure his boy was okay. Kenji appeared to be unharmed, though he was now crying. Slowly, Siobhán’s wailing died off, and she slowly resumed her normal, youthful and beautiful appearance. There was a single difference, however. Where joy and wit had once lit up her eyes, those concepts were now replaced by pure, unadulterated terror.

 

Keisuke cursed. What was scary enough to terrify a banshee, a harbinger of horrifying omens? “Siobhán-san! Siobhán-san! What did you see? Who is to die?”

 

“They’re already dead,” she whispered. “The midwives who helped with the birthing. The nurses.” She latched onto his arm with one of her hands, the strength of her clutching grip surprising Keisuke. Her eyes were bewildered, pleading. “ _K-Kai_. They’re dead, all of them. They were killed, scalpels slitting their throats. Blood, rivers of blood, pouring from the wound and becoming a lake of crimson life upon the floor…”

 

 

“Where’s Reuben-san? Do you know where he went?”

 

“He said he had something to attend to. That was shortly before I received the omen.”

 

“Find Reuben-san and tell him we need his help urgently. Do that and we can g—”

 

Another high-pitched wail reverberated through the hospital floor. Siobhán paled. Keisuke felt as though his blood had turned to melted snow within his veins. She hadn’t screamed.

 

Keiko had.

 

 _“Kuso!”_ He cursed, rushing back towards his wife, barely registering that Siobhán followed suit. He had been foolish to leave her alone, but he had be so fearful that Kenji was in danger and she had looked so peaceful…

 

Keisuke and Siobhán barged into the room to find Keiko in hysterics, sobbing as she clutched her stomach. There was new blood on the sheets below her, but none on her. She appeared uninjured.

 

Handing off the children to a bewildered Siobhán, Keisuke ran to his wife’s side and held her gently by the shoulders, urging her to tell him what was wrong. He kept assuring her that Kyo was fine and with him, urging her to look at Siobhán who held both the crying Kenji and sleeping Kyoji. Keiko didn’t seem to hear him. She was crying and shaking, unable to articulate herself, and it was a long time before Keisuke had managed to calm her down enough to tell him.

 

When she did, Keisuke felt the frozen snow in his veins freeze solid. His world proceeded to fall apart.

 

*******

 

The curiously festive atmosphere of the Takeshi household was quickly being overtaken by impatience and appeal for the main event of the evening. The friends of the Takeshis had been on stand-by in case the couple’s child had been born early, and the time had finally come when they’d gotten notice. Friends and acquaintances of both Keisuke and Keiko had come from all over the world to visit the family in their time of joy – to be here at this new chapter of their lives was considered a great honour.

 

The guests milled about the house, introducing themselves to each other and sharing embarrassing stories about either Keisuke or Keiko. An Italian man, Raphael, was laughing as a stunning Chinese woman, Jiao Ming, translated a joke her Japanese acquaintance Kimiko was telling. Apparently, the green _qipao_ -clad Jiao Ming was fluent in several languages. Across the room, a middle-aged Japanese man in a green kimono held a young Caucasian boy by the hand, no older than six, and was telling him the reason they had visited the Takeshis. The young boy was dressed similarly, a miniature kimono wrapped around him tightly.

 

A strikingly beautiful Japanese woman, just recently turned 30, was speaking to a short, elderly Chinese man who was accompanied by an equally short, equally-elderly Japanese woman. The beautiful woman was decked out in an elegant, silky soft, green kimono that draped her form artfully. The Chinese man seemed to be rather grumpy, and he was being mocked by the old Japanese woman. He simply wore a green _hanfu_. The young woman, Takamura, was the one who had to keep the two elders civil towards each other. Their petty squabbles could be had another time. For now, they were to wait for the announcement of the child.

 

“The child was born in the Year of the Monkey,” the elderly Japanese woman was saying. Similar to Takamura, she was dressed in a fitted green kimono. “No doubt he’s going to be a resourceful little troublemaker. My condolences to Keisuke and Keiko’s recently deceased peace of mind. We should drink to that. I wonder where the saké is?”

 

“Have you no class?” the old Chinese man grumbled. “Saké this, saké that. You and your alcohol, I’m surprised you haven’t overdosed at this point.”

 

“Have you no concept of fun?” the old woman retorted. “Prim and proper, always too worried about other’s opinions. You need to let loose and have fun. When you’re willing to learn how, all you need to do is holler.”

 

Takamura rolled her onyx eyes. They were bickering like an old married couple again. She felt a tap on her shoulder, and she turned around to find a grinning Hideo Yamaguchi, a promising lead for President of the Japan Restoration Party. A stern-looking, bespectacled family man, Hideo was a very popular subject in politics. He was known for his conservative and honour-bound declarations and promises, which he always delivered. Due to his uncompromising take on what needed to be done and his widespread appeal and influence, he was respectfully dubbed ‘The Baron’.

 

“Takamura-san!” He gave a rare smile, and shook Takamura’s hand firmly. Doing the same for the Japanese elders with her, he ushered his wife forward. She too was wearing a kimono, though it was a white one, much like her husband. “This is my wife, and the love of my life, Mameha.” His wife smiled brightly, nodded in acknowledgement. “And this,” he said, gesturing to a little girl holding Mameha’s hand, no more than four, “is my oldest daughter, Sayuri. Say hello, Sayuri.”

 

“ _Konnichiwa,”_ the young girl chirped, twirling her mini white kimono about and giggling.

 

“Anata, you mustn’t forget our dearest newborn daughter,” Mameha murmured, demure in tone. In her other hand, cradled to her bosom, was a little girl sleeping soundly in her mother’s arms.

 

“Of course, I could never,” Hideo smiled. “This, ladies and gentleman, is our wonderful daughter Hatsumomo.” He beamed with pride. “She’s a little over four months old, born ten days before her expected due date. On February 2nd, we received one of the greatest gifts one can be given. On February 2nd, we welcomed another little angel by the name of Hatsumomo to our family. She was named for the peaches because Mameha conceived her near the end of May, just as peach season was blooming into season.”

 

“A good choice, indeed, as her face looks like a small peach indeed,” the elderly Japanese woman said, peering up at the girl. “The Fates have a sense of humour, don’t they?”

 

Takamura gave the elderly woman a warning look, but the woman waved her off. “What point is there in being polite? It just gets in the way of being honest. I’d rather speak my mind freely than masquerade behind a façade for the sake of ‘politeness.’ Besides, I’m far too old to be polite. I can take advantage of my impending senility and run with it.”

 

Surprisingly, the iron-willed Hideo laughed. “A woman who speaks her mind, and does not apologize for who she is. A rare trait, nowadays. Intriguing, indeed.”

 

“It’s why you married me,” Mameha teased, kissing her husband on the cheek. The elderly woman tossed a glance to Takamura as if to say, ‘ _You see? She knows where she’s going in life.’_

 

“What about you, Takamura-san?” Hideo inquired. “When do you plan to join the ranks of the married women and become a mother? When do you plan to have children? You’re getting to that ripe age, you had better work quickly before there are no men left for you.”

 

Instantly, Takamura and the elderly woman exchanged a knowing glance. The elder of the pair looked away, as though she couldn’t bear to see what had happened next. Hideo looked expectant for an answer, but Mameha seemed to notice something was amiss.

 

Before Takamura could reply, Mameha offered, “Though I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, Anata, for some men and women, there’s more to life than family and children.” Hatsumomo was awakening, and Mameha held her closer. “Perhaps Takamura-san is among their number.”

 

“Perhaps,” Takamura replied, nonchalant. “If I am to wed and bear children, perhaps it will happen when the time is right. I see no need for it at the moment.”

 

“If anything,” said Hideo, “you could always take care of our children. Should anything ever happen to us, of course. The politics game is a dangerous one, and though I wish it weren’t true, there have been known to be assassinations. However, I feel it is my duty. No one will take a stand if they do not see others doing it. In the event anything happens, I would trust my children’s lives in your care. There is no one else I would even consider.”

 

“A most generous offer,” Takamura replied smoothly, “but perhaps we should focus on your safety and your meteoric rise in the politics game. You’ll be Prime Minister of Japan in no time, at this rate.”

 

Hideo beamed. “As long as the lives of my children and family are improved. I will have those damned Yakuza thugs abolished and banished from all of Japan if I can.”

 

“Yes,” drawled a voice, “those damned Yakuza need to go.” It was the middle-aged man with the young, Caucasian boy. “We will all sleep better at night if you were in charge, Hideo-san.” To the little blond boy with striking turquoise eyes, the man said, “Come say hi, Sonic.”

 

“Haruhiko-san!” Hideo’s grin threatened to split his face in half. “You old dog! Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in years! Have you met my daughter, Sayuri? And my newest one, Hatsumomo? I’ve you to thank for their births, as it was you who introduced me to this most beautiful woman I am lucky enough to call Mrs. Yamaguchi.”

 

Haruhiko waved him off. “I’ve known Mameha-chan for a long time, as I used to be friends with her mother. I even tutored her back when I taught, much like I did with Takamura-chan here. Quick and gifted, she was a talented student. Ambitious, too. Upon meeting you, my immediate thought was that the two of you would make an unstoppable power couple. And it seems this old geezer’s intuition was right, as you’re now clawing your way to power rather impressively. Don’t forget me when you’re at the top, Hideo-san!”

 

“I could never!” The man shook his head. “I never forget my debts.”

 

Haruhiko looked over his glasses towards the elderly man and woman, and greeted Takamura amicably. “You seem to be doing well for yourself,” he mused, appraising her with pride. “Last time I saw you, your circumstances were dire. The Fates must have been smiling down on you, and sent you this one here for guidance.” He gestured to the elderly Japanese woman, who in the meantime had managed to locate some alcoholic beverages.

 

Swallowing after having drained the cup of its liquor, the elderly woman wiped the back of her mouth with her hand and grinned. “I like to think the Jade Emperor spent a little more time on me.”

 

“Yes, to make you more annoying,” the short, elderly Japanese man murmured, only to be elbowed by her.

 

Before they could continue bickering, the door to the master bedroom opened, and a red-headed woman, Siobhán, came gliding down the stairs towards them. She still wore her green corset and black cloak, her emerald heels tapping rhythmically against the steps. Her fiery red hair billowed behind her majestically, as did her cloak, and she approached them with intense green eyes that radiated warmth.

 

“Aye, you’re all here. This group here gets special privileges, in that they get to see the little leanbh first. Come along, now.”

 

With a turn of her heel and a swish of her cloak, she led them up the stairs, and into the master bedroom. Kenji was lifted up by his father Keisuke, leaning over the side and looking at Kyo, who was held by his mother. Though she was smiling, there was a hint of sadness to it, something echoed in her eyes as well as her husband’s. Kenji, for his part, stared at his little brother in wonder and reached forward to touch his face, as though trying to make sure he was corporeal.

 

The group of ten made their way forward, crowding around the bed for a better look. In the room, thirteen pairs of eyes young and old alike, all focused upon the sleeping boy in his mother’s arms. He had a smattering of dark, messy hair already and he was merely a few days old. Kenji was playing with his brother’s hair, remarking how weird it was to see a baby with so much hair already. Sayuri looked to Sonic, who looked back – both seemed unsure of how to feel, watching something so small and fragile. Sayuri took Sonic’s hand and led him to the other side of the bed, closer to the baby – they seemed to find comfort in the buddy system, two kids in a room full of adults.

 

“He’s so small,” Sonic whispered, as though afraid the boy would wake up.

 

“And he’s so red,” Sayuri added. “Mother, why is he so red?”

 

“He’s a new baby, Sayuri,” Mameha replied. “Even you looked like that when you were born.”

 

The girl stuck her tongue out, as if disgusted by the idea she could’ve looked like that. Sonic giggled, and Sayuri found herself giggling along too.

 

“They’re not wrong,” the elderly woman remarked. “His face is small and circular like an apricot, not to mention ruddy. I wouldn’t be half surprised if you named him Kyo.” Upon seeing the husband and wife exchange knowing smiles, she added, “Dear God, you didn’t. This boy is going to be bullied, and his parents have already started.”

 

“He’s beautiful,” Mameha said, warm eyes fastened upon Kyo’s sleeping ones.

 

“He’s going to be a heart-breaker, this one,” Siobhán agreed.

 

“A strong jaw,” Hideo approved.

 

Jiao Ming, the Chinese woman from before, entered the room with quiet clacks of her green high-heeled pumps. “Have I been missing all the fun?” Jade eyes cast themselves upon Kyo’s slumbering form. “He’s got his father’s face, but his mother’s beauty, if the attention of all these people is anything to judge by.”

 

Mameha nodded. “Perhaps we should have him and Hatsumomo become playmates. It is important young children have friends. The greatest gift we can give them, aside from siblings, are childhood friends with which to share their life. To have someone with them from the very start, before they even remember, is a gift given to few. I say, with the permission of the parents, we bestow it upon our children.”

 

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Keiko answered. Her voice seemed to waver for a moment, before returning to normal. “Maybe even have Kenji and Sayuri become playmates as well.”

 

“Why not kick it up a notch? We’re family friends, but why not become family? Perhaps we should unify our clans through the marriage of Kenji and Sayuri, and furthermore by Kyo and Hatsumomo. Would that not be grand?”

 

At the mention of their names, both Sayuri and Kenji looked at each other for the first time, and simultaneously made faces as though perturbed by the idea. Sonic stifled laughter, and all the adults in the room laughed at the children’s reactions. The loud noises woke Kyo, who wailed until his mother presented him with a pacifier that he greedily sucked on.

 

“I don’t know how I feel about that,” Keisuke confessed about the idea of arranged marriages. “I’d rather my sons have the chance to select their own mates. If Sayuri and Hatsumomo happen to be them, so be it. I’d be very pleased with that. But I think it’s important that they ultimately choose who they spend their lives with, and I will stand by their decision whole-heartedly, 100%.”

 

“I also feel the same way about our daughters,” Mameha added. “In a world were so little is in our power, it would be cruel to deny them the chance to pick their own loves. After all, it is their life they’re living, not ours. Perhaps we shouldn’t raise them the way we were, for they were born for a different time. Just a thought, Anata.”

 

When Keiko voiced her agreement as well, Hideo seemed to take this into consideration. “Very well,” he agreed, “they may choose themselves. But if they’re not married by the time they’re 30, we are pairing the spares!”

 

Hatsumomo seemed to be staring very intently at Kyo, her small eyes trained upon the boy. Likewise, Kyo’s attention seemed to be focused back at the young girl looming before him, watching her as though she were the only thing he could make sense of. Did he instinctively recognize that she was like him? Foreign to this bright, noisy world and trying to make sense of it?

 

The baby boy Kyo managed to spit out his pacifier, and a tinkling, joyous sound came from his mouth. The little kids recognized it as laughter, and were equally shocked when Hatsumomo’s pacifier hit the ground and she was found to be laughing gleefully as well.

 

“They like each other,” Jiao Ming noted. “Perhaps Yue-Lao has linked these two together.”

 

The banshee, Siobhán, ruffled the hair of Sayuri and Sonic, both of whom stood before her. “It’s getting late. Shall we get these youngin settled in for the night?”

 

Keisuke nodded. “Thank you, Siobhán-san. Everyone is welcome to stay the night. There is more than enough space for everyone. Please, consider the offer. Family can be determined by more than just blood. It is about the bonds made. You are all our family, and we thank you for being with us in this precious moment in our lives.”

 

Jiao Ming offered to show the guests to their rooms, as she knew the household very well. No sooner than the guests left did Keiko break down into sobs, unable to hold back her tears behind a cheerful façade. Siobhán scooped Kenji out of Keisuke’s arms, freeing him to tend to his wife. Much like his mother, Kyo began to cry, instinctively upset when his mother was as well.

 

“Sssh, my love, sssh, my boy,” he whispered to them both, wiping away their tears, “I will take care of this. I will fix what has been wronged, and I will restore happiness to this family once more. Do not fret, my dear, for I shall take care of it as I trust you will take care of yourself and our dear boys Kenji and Kyo. Do not cry, Anata. Please, do not cry, for my sake. When you cry, it makes me want to cry, and I don’t like crying. Please spare your tears. Sssh, sssh, it’s alright. We’ll get through this.”

 

Siobhán held onto Kenji tightly as his tears began to stream down his cheeks too, and she couldn’t help but feel her own start to flow as well.

 


	2. Yin 0: Battle of the Brazilian Library

~ NINETEEN YEARS LATER~

***

An unnatural silence lingered in the air after the last few stragglers had been escorted out of the Brazilian library.

 

The bespectacled librarian glanced about, thin eyebrows arching in suspicion. The air felt...off. Almost as though it were harbouring a secret, some ominous event foreshadowed to occur. The silence said more than it should have. A pair of amber eyes looked towards the door, and then behind her. The unsettling feeling disappeared, and as such, seemingly so did her concern for it.

 

The Brazilian librarian’s obsidian-dark high heels clicked loudly against the tiled library floor, alternating steps on black and white ground. She walked along the aisles, pushing a few books back into place, righting them up, rearranging those near her in numerical order. The Dewey Decimal system, while convenient, was not her favoured method; she preferred to organize the books alphabetically by author’s last name, but the local residents had gotten far too used to the “Drastically Dumb System”, as she so often referred to it. Sometimes, she considered rearranging the entire library by her preferred method, but that would have required quite some time. She wasn’t keen on such a time-consuming task.

 

She needn’t have gone through the aisles individually; her kindness and friendly demeanour towards visitors earned her a well-liked reputation amongst the entire city. Due to this, when she asked them to, people were quick to obey and abide by the rules. As a result, the children, teenagers, adults and elderly alike would respectfully put the books back in their correct order; there was nary a mess in her library, thanks to the combined efforts of all those who used this local resource. Still, there were always a few exceptions, and they usually occurred in the same section.

 

Looking around the aisle she was in, all books seemed to be in place, and she knew that the other aisles were much the same. She turned to leave -- however, before doing so, she collected a large book. The red-covered book was emblazoned with the title _Magical Myths: Chinese Creatures_. She collected one more in addition, a book entitled _Forced to Fly_ : _An Autobiography_. Sashaying back to the front desk, she placed the books down on the table, before rolling up the sleeves of her white dress shirt and smoothing out the few wrinkles on her form-fitting, black pencil skirt. Glancing around once more, she undid the bun her hair was in, allowing it to cascade down her back, blonde rivulets shimmering despite the dim lighting of the library, as was custom of after-hours.

 

She paused, allowing the silence to reign supreme for a moment. She raised a slender hand up, taking hold of her glasses, and hesitating before taking them off as well and placing it down on the table with a soft _clack_.

 

“The library is closed,” she said aloud to the seemingly empty room. “It is after hours, and I suggest you leave at once. Both of you.”

 

A shuffling sound was heard, as two shadow-clad figures stepped partially forward into the light. Their faces were hidden by shadows, and only their bodies were visible. The woman turned her head slightly over her shoulder, glancing in their direction.

 

“I’m afraid I must insist. The library is no longer available to the public.”

 

The two beings remained where they were, silent.

 

She sighed. “If you aren’t going to leave, at least show your face. Do me that courtesy.”

 

They shuffled forward, easing into the light. They were clad in black garments, shirts with sleeves far longer than their arms to the point that it dragged on the ground; black pants fastened with belts with a skull for a buckle; taloned, scaly black feet; most notably, however, were their faces. Rather, what was on them.

 

Their faces were hidden, beneath white, Japanese kabuki masks. One wore an expressionless mask, red lips and blue markings on the cheeks daring out towards the nose of the mask. The other wore a more demonic, oni mask, complete with gnarled yellow teeth and pointy horns atop the mask. The eye slits were minimal, reinforcing their lack of humanity. They said nothing, arms raised slightly, their sleeves dangling mere inches from the ground.

 

The woman raised an eyebrow in response, slightly annoyed. “That’s not exactly polite, hiding your face from view.”

 

“You’re one to talk, creature,” one of them hissed, its voice raspy from disuse. “You speak as though you are any better.”

 

For some reason, this seemed to amuse her. “Oh, so you know what I am? Is that why you’re here? It’s been centuries since someone tried to capture me against my will. You think you two stand a chance?”

 

“We know what you are,” the other hissed, its voice as equally displeasing as its tone. “You are to come with us.”

 

She turned to face them fully, seating herself upon the desk behind her as she crossed her legs, hands clasped on her knees. “And if I refuse?”

 

The creatures paused, tensing. “Then we shall not hold back. Our orders are clear.”

 

“Orders, you say?” She cocked her head, sizing them up. “Who do you work for? What business have they with me? And why,” she questioned, smiling sweetly, “could they not have come to collect me themselves?”

 

Their reaction was instantaneous, high-pitched angry screeching renting the air. The woman winced, but her smirk remained on her comely face. “Anger is hardly a presentable behaviour. How would your master feel if you lost your cool to mere words, knowing full well you represent him -- or her? I doubt they’d be pleased.”

 

The creatures shifted slightly, remaining silent this time. They knew her words to be true.  She continued, nonchalant in tone.

 

“How about we go about this civilly? Tell me what I want to know, and perhaps I shall cooperate.” She flashed a brilliant smile. “I’m nothing if not reasonable.”

 

They said nothing, their heads tilting, masked face as static as ever.

 

She sighed. “You Kabuki Creatures. Always annoying to deal with, always the same old tricks. I’ll ask you again.” Her gaze suddenly became steely, her tone icy in quality. “ _Who are you working for?”_

 

Both instantly flinched, recognizing the ferocity of her words. Even then, their movement was barely noticeable; it did not escape her sight, however. She held her gaze, slanting her eyebrows in anger.

 

“I was always told ‘Silence is Golden’, but I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for silver today, gentlemen. _You shall speak._ ”

 

Her gaze seemed to overpower theirs, burning with a ferocity despite not even making direct eye contact due to their masks. They seemed to be frozen momentarily, before breaking free of the binding gaze, screeching in protest. The woman merely blinked in surprise, an amused smile lighting up her comely features.

 

“Kabuki Creatures that can actually resist my commands? Interesting, I wouldn’t’ve thought your kind were possible of this. Tell me, who created you? They’ve done a better job than most others, that’s for sure.”

 

“We have no intention of answering you, creature,” the Kabuki-masked monstrosities screeched, shuffling slightly as they kept their stance. “You are to come with us, Lin--”

 

“ _My name is not to be spoken by the likes of you, beastlings.”_ Her tone was that of the coldest steel, and the Kabuki Creatures did not disobey. Her gaze hardened as a frown tugged at her lips, eyebrows knitting together in anger. “You refrain from telling me that which I ask? Very well. Then I have no use of you.”

 

She uncrossed her legs, hopping down from the desk upon which she sat, glancing back at the books she brought with her. Though she wanted this to be over quick, she refrained from utilizing them now. They would be a last resort.

 

Glancing back at the Kabuki Creatures, she sighed, gazing with lament at the rows upon rows of books. She didn’t want to, but she had no choice. Turning her heavy gaze upon the abominations, she smiled sweetly. “Allow me to escort you from the premises.”

 

Instantly, she was already before them, her leg slamming into the side of one of the Kabuki Creatures; they were completely unprepared, not having expected such speed from her. The hit monster flew from the force of the blow, sent smashing into one of the bookcases.

 

The other attempted to capitalize on this opening, mistaking her focus on its companion as a momentary lapse of awareness. From the long, dark sleeve came an exceptionally long, three-pronged blade, slashing towards the woman’s midsection. Exemplifying her quick reflexes, she twirled from the momentum of her previous kick, raising her leg even higher as the tip of the high heel parried the blades. The creature seemed confused, questioning how this was possible; inspecting the heel, however, it understood.

 

“I see you realized it,” the librarian said, her voice dripping with amusement. “You see the chipped paint on the front of my heel -- now you can see that it’s steel-toed. However, you’ll also _feel it!”_

 

She spun her body, her hands firmly planted on the ground, using the back of her other heel to slam into the creature’s mask. A screech from behind her indicated that the other had recovered and was homing in on her, and she brought her body together before launching herself away, using her elbows as a spring. The creature narrowly missed, instead, plowing into its companion. A chuckle hung in the air as the woman laughed at how miserable her assailants were. In truth, she couldn’t even consider them her assailants -- more so, the other way around.

 

She ran down the library corridor, blonde hair billowing out behind her, eyes narrowed and focused ahead but her ears aware as to the location of the Kabuki Creatures; they were currently trailing her, darting from the tops of the large bookcases. Racing from the Children’s Section to the Young Adults Section, she dashed towards one of the racks, pulling out a book. Glancing at the title, she smiled: _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ by the sensational J.K. Rowling _._ “This will do,” she murmured. She thrust open the book, flicking through the pages quickly, searching for the section that would be helpful. Just as she found it, the Kabuki Creatures appeared, blades whirling through the air as they darted towards her. She quickly placed her hand above the book, however, and raised it up, as though drawing water telepathically, the book’s words and pages beginning to glow.

 

Instantly, water exploded out of the book, torrents of liquid unrelenting in its bursting rage. Along with it, fantastical creatures like mermaids and even a giant squid appeared, the room quickly filling up with water and becoming an underwater arena. The previous book shelves and setting of the library was gone, and replaced with a world underwater, blue overtones and light streaming in slightly from above -- they were no longer in their world, but in the world of the book.

 

She saw the Kabuki Creature’s confusion reflected in their movements, but that didn’t stop them in their pursuit -- their blades began to whir incredibly fast, acting as propellers to push them through the water. She rolled her eyes, a few bubbles of air escaping her nose as she kept her mouth firmly sealed. She darted towards the surface, intent on trapping the Kabuki Creatures in this world.

 

They were quick on her tail, however, and almost caught up to her. She wasn’t having it -- glancing at the nearby creatures, mermaids, or mermen, if she wanted to be technical, she held her hand out to them. Their eyes glowed for a moment, before they swam towards her, aiming to intercept the Kabuki Creatures and occupy them.

 

She reached the surface, bursting out of the water -- the inhabitants of this world, witches and wizards, all gasped at the unexpected disturbance. She flashed them a winning smile, waving for a moment, before glancing down. The Kabuki Creatures appeared, whirling through the air with their hand blade-propellers, and she frowned. They sure were persistent.

 

Snapping her fingers, the space above her collapsed in on itself, forming a swirling portal. She entered it, closing it with a snap...a moment too late, as the creatures managed to enter it as well. Together, all three were teleported back to their original world, leaving the previous one behind as it was. The portal opened up, depositing them back in the Brazilian library, leaving the Kabuki Creatures disoriented for a few moments. That gave her the running start she needed.

 

Off she dashed, quick as the wind, racing down aisle after aisle of books, heading towards the adult fiction. Scanning the rows, she found the epic fantasy novel she was looking for: _A Storm of Swords._ Picking it up, she touched the pages, and a large tower erupted from the page, smoke filling the room. When it was done, they were once more in another world, this time created by the cleverly talented George R.R. Martin. She was at Riverrun, atop one of the castle’s spires. The Kabuki Creatures hissed rather loudly, sleeves trailing behind them, the blades barely visible beneath the cloth.

 

Dashing across the top of the castle, she laughed gleefully as she evaded her stalkers. “I haven’t had this much fun in ages!” she exclaimed, amused thoroughly by the pitiful attempts at her capture. “Remind me to meet your maker, I must thank whoever it is!”

 

Her taunts only served to rile them up, and they dashed even quicker than she’d thought possible. That was fine -- she hadn’t been running at top speed either. Getting serious, she lowered her head, hands trailing out behind her to minimize wind resistance, her aerodynamic running form allowing her to speed along faster than she’d been letting on. Her blonde hair whipped about her majestically, sleeves billowing from the wind at her speed, heels clacking sharply against the slanted roof. She brought a hand before her, eyes narrowing, as she snapped thrice in succession, a portal appearing before her once more. In she ran, the portal closing at a much quicker rate than the previous one, though not quick enough to ensure her eluding the masked monsters.

 

Once more they were transported to their world, exiting the book’s with no lingering effects. The Kabuki Creatures straightened up, shaking off the disorientation much faster this time. She was back in front of the desk, sitting behind it this time, facing the intruders. Her elbows rested on the mahogany desk, fingers laced together as she surveyed the creatures from above her hands. Her pretty face still wore a smile.

 

“I’d imagine you’re both tired. Not many are able to withstand traveling between worlds, diving in and out of books without some sort of fatigue. I commend you, however, as both of you are hiding it very well. However, hiding it is quite different from it actually not being there.” She paused, to let that sink in. “Give up. I will allow you to leave now, with your lives and limbs intact, lest you kill yourselves trying to accomplish what you cannot. This is your final warning. If you leave now, you leave with your lives. If not, I leave with your corpses. The choice is yours.”

 

In response, the Kabuki Creatures sprinted forward, blades extending, masks as static as ever.

 

She sighed.

 

Flipping open the red-covered book, she settled on a section midway through the book. Her hand hovering above the text, the letters and page began to glow brightly, engulfing the entire room in a brilliant, blinding white light. From the flapping pages soared a fantastic creature, vermillion in colour, its wingspan enormous, different shades of red shifting into orange shifting into yellow at the tips. Its body was red and crimson and vermillion, clashing and contrasting and emphasizing each other. Its beak was golden and hooked, eyes like dark, glittering gems, its talons white and sharp beyond measure. Its body, wings, and tail were all ablaze with shimmering flames, the enormous creature’s warm, majestic presence seeming to fill up what part of the room its physical body did not occupy.

 

She had summoned a phoenix, one of the sacred mythological birds of legend.

 

Light from the mythological entity illuminated the room, diminishing the shadows. The phoenix cawed, its voice shattering windows and causing the entire library to tremble. The bird brought its wings close together, almost as if shielding itself, before spreading its wings magnificently outwards, a ring of flame expanding and incinerating all in its path. The Kabuki Creatures hissed, attempting to find some darkness with which to take respite, but the phoenix’s glowing presence forbade it. They were lucky, however, as powerful dark magic prevented the phoenix’s flames from destroying them. It cawed again, and once more the library trembled. It rose into the air, wings spread wide, before flying through the ceiling, disappearing into the night.

 

The blinding presence of the phoenix, and the brilliant, glimmering trail it left behind, caused the demons of darkness to lose track of their target. However, they spotted her almost instantly, slumped over the desk, beside the second open book. Working quickly, they bound her arms and legs between them with their flowing sleeves, ensuring she could not escape. They disappeared, enveloped into the darkness that had returned once the phoenix had left.

 

Moments passed in silence before a sound could be heard – breathing. From behind an aisle, the librarian woman approached the desk, heels clacking loudly in the nigh-silent library. She was breathing heavily -- she hadn’t used that much magic in a long time, and she was quite rusty. Nevertheless, it worked. They had bought her ruse.

 

She reached the reception desk, noting that the book stands and books beginning to regenerate; a good thing about phoenix fire: whatever it incinerated could be brought back again, given time, and often purified. Evil spirits usually weren’t so lucky.

 

Her fingers glossed over the text of the second book; she closed it, the cover reading _Forced to Fly_ : _An Autobiography._ She had penned it herself, a fictitious autobiography in preparation of an event of this nature, in case the possibility ever arose. She sat on the desk, fingers tracing the golden indented letters of the title. Those mooks had made off with nothing more than a useless, decoy version of herself that wouldn’t even last long -- it would disappear back to its fictional world in due time. She had to work quickly to warn the others, to ensure that they were prepared and avoided the fate the creator of those Kabuki Creatures had in mind for them.

 

Ling Guang allowed herself a breathy laugh. She hadn’t had that much fun in a long time, and the stakes were only going to get riskier from here on out. The game had just started, but already someone had taken such a dangerous gambit. Someone wanted to play for keeps.

 

“Alright,” she murmured, allowing herself a small smile as she spoke to the silent-once-more library, “If you want to play the game, we’ll play.” Picking up her glasses from the table once more, she flipped them open and swiftly put them on with a single hand. “I hope you know, whoever you are: _I’ve never lost.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware they probably don't use the Dewey Decimal System in Brazil in actuality, but because ~magick~, they do in this universe. *magical hand wave*


	3. Yang 1: Headaches and Heartbreaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now the story proper starts.

The young Asian boy trudged down the sodden Tokyo sidewalk, his eyes downcast and uncaring about what he stumbled into. His perpetually-messy raven hair was plastered all about his head, the drenching onslaught of rain pouring drearily all about him. His thumb was absentmindedly flicking the spark wheel on his lime green lighter, despite the weather. He had just left a saké shop, his head all abuzz with liquor. The boy wasn't even old enough to be drinking, a few months shy of the legal age of 20.

 

That didn't matter to him, though, especially at the moment. His girlfriend, Kikyou, broke off their nearly two-year relationship on dubious grounds. She had berated him, telling him he was simply too nice to her and that he should have acted _angry_ instead of keeping his emotions to himself. Kikyou questioned why he didn't confront her when he found out she was seeing someone else. She wanted to know why her actions didn't upset or anger him, why she couldn't get through to him.

 

He had been confused. ' _Does she want to cause issues between us?'_ he thought. _'Does she intentionally try to anger me?'_

 

She went on and on, her Japanese fluent and passionate, emphasizing her anger with him for his lack of anger. " _Why are you distancing yourself from me?"_ she had screamed. _"Why can't you just be angry when you're angry?!"_

 

 _"Because I love you,"_ he had said _._ He was rewarded with a slap, tears breaking free and rolling down her face, and harsh, bitter words that haunted him ever since.

 

" _You're a fool, Kyo,"_ she had spat, _"An utter fool. How can you love me? Love does not exist. I used to think it did, but time taught me a far harsher lesson that I had thought possible. Love isn't real. Don't fool yourself into thinking otherwise, Kyo, before you hurt more than you should."_

 

She had left him then, left him in his confusion and hurt, and he could only think over what she had said, almost obsessively.

 

_Love does not exist._

 

That had been half a day ago. Kyo had wondered what to do with himself since, trying to distract himself. Each endeavour proved fruitless, ultimately reminding him of her and the time they had spent together. In hindsight, it had been a rather foolish idea to partake together in every activity the city had to offer them. When all was said and done, everything would remind him of this...of them. He hadn't prepared for that, though. He hadn't ever expected them to go their separate ways.

 

 _"I'll love you forever,"_ she had said once, lying against his chest, her voice barely a whisper. _"I always will."_

 

At the time, he thought nothing of it. He knew that she loved him. He loved her as well. No, he _still_ loved her. Stroking her hair then, he had said he loved her too, and that their love was as beautiful and selfless as that of the sun and the moon's. She had smiled at that, a small, comforting smile, and he had felt himself return it without hesitation.

 

Kyo shook his head. _Love does not exist._ She hadn't meant it. His heart ached, and for what he didn't know. Was it because he hated her? Or did he love her regardless of what she had done? He felt as though he should hate her, as though she were the most undesirable concept he could have dreamt up. Even now, in his anger and sorrow, he couldn't bring himself to associate her with feelings like disgust and hatred.

 

No, those emotions he saved for himself.

 

' _How could you be so stupid, Kyo?'_ he mentally berated himself; his fingers absentmindedly clicked the wheel of his lighter even faster, reflecting his internal frustration _. 'How could you be so blind? She is beautiful and smart and kind and caring. The fact that she was all this and more should have set off alarms!'_ Kyo's mother had always told him stories as a young boy about powerful creatures, cruel and devastatingly clever, that disguised themselves as beautiful women to get close to men before ruining their lives. _'Kitsune',_ his mother had warned _, 'beautiful but deadly. Do not fall for looks alone, my sweet child, lest you be ensnared by wicked temptation.'_

 

' _She was just a kitsune,'_ he thought wearily, still trudging down the sodden street walk he had been walking on for the past few hours. ' _A beautiful and dangerous woman. Mother was right. Just a kitsune.'_

 

A disconcerting feeling nagged at the back of his cloudy mind, the alcoholic intoxicant still coursing through his system. He struggled to recall what was so urgent, what wouldn't leave his consciousness to its misery, what was so annoyingly persistent in its relevance. Slow as his mental processes were at the moment, it finally clicked: his keys.

 

Kyo sighed. The owner of the saké shop had taken one look at him, and felt sympathetic. No doubt the bartender had seen her own fair share of heartbreak during her tenure as a barkeep, perhaps countless young adults and teenagers with their hearts broken, looking to temporarily do the same to their minds. While the woman had been sympathetic to his situation and waved him in, she hadn't been completely irresponsible. She had refused to serve him alcohol while he was still in possession of his keys; she'd also seen her fair share of the youth attempt to drive away after drinking heavily only to receive disastrous results, and she had no wish to see it happen any longer.

 

He had reluctantly complied, and drank himself into a stupor. All the while, he slurred his story to the floral pattern kimono-clad woman, who lent an unbiased and nonjudgmental ear. He spoke in English, since even Japanese reminded him of her; the woman responded to him in fluent English as well. Takamura, as he found out her name was, had had her own share of troubles and seemed experienced beyond her appearance of a mere 35 years. There was this air of elegance and strength about her, an aura that immediately tipped Kyo off so as not to cross her. He pointed out his admiration of her wisdom, but she dismissed that idea with a wave of her hand, replying "I simply overhear a lot of things I probably have no business knowing while tending to my saké shop. I do know this, however: this place is a gold mine for information. A drunk tongue is an honest one."

 

He had left bills behind, more than enough to cover the bill (it had been his way of thanking her for her generosity and kind heart), and stumbled out the store while she was busy tending to things in the backroom. He had left without his keys, and only a significant time after had he bothered to remember it.

 

Turning around to make his way back to the saké shop, he broke into a run, arms pumping as he dashed along the Tokyo sidewalk with reckless abandonment. His vision was blurring even more so than because of the alcohol, due to the thick downpour of rain that did not seem to be likely to let up anytime soon. He had blinked but once while running and that was all it took for him to lose his coordination and overall balance, stumbling and heading right for the floor. Kyo screwed up his eyes, his lighter flying out of his grasp as his hands clumsily attempting to protect his face as he fell towards the foggy ground – how long had the smoke-like gas been there?

 

Someone grasped him, preventing his fall. Kyo opened his eyes.

 

A woman was staring back at him, a worried look in her eyes.

 

“Are you alright?” Her voice sounded odd, perhaps because of the surgical mask she wore; it was not an uncommon sight to see people with such masks on, in order to prevent catching colds and other sicknesses. She seemed to be studying him with her sharp eyes.

 

“Are you a sssurgeon?” Kyo asked, a loopy smile coming to his face as he straightened up. “You look like a sssurgeon, you are, aren’t you?”

 

The woman’s eyes crinkled; she seemed to be smiling, though he couldn’t tell under that surgical mask she wore. “Perhaps, in a manner of speaking.” She tilted her head, sizing him up. “The scent of alcohol is strong on your breath. What is your name?”

 

“Watassshi?  Eeto…N-namae wa Kyo desu,” he responded, hiccupping slightly. “My name isss Kyo. And yoursss?”

 

“Kuchisa.”

 

The name sounded oddly familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Kyo pushed it from his mind. He spotted his lighter a little ways away, and went over to it, bending down to retrieve it, feeling a bit safer when its warmth was back in his grasp. “That’sss a pretty name, Kuchisssa-sssan. Thank you for sssaving me.”

 

She seemed to be smiling at his words. “Think nothing of it. Though…do you think my name is as pretty as I am?”

 

That was an odd question to ask – even in his inebriated state, Kyo wondered where that question came from. He had a nagging feeling that that was an important question, that he had heard it somewhere before, and for some reason, it brought negative connotations with it. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember when he had heard that question before; this bothered him, as he was usually good with memory, even when drunk.

 

Kyo looked at her face, taking in the features that weren’t obscured by the pale green surgical mask. Her eyes were dark and intense; her nose sharp. Though she had angular features, she had a look about her that suggested her face had been smoother at one point. Her hair was long and tumbled to the side of her left shoulder; curiously, it was not damp from the rain. He supposed she could be considered attractive, though she seemed to be several years older than him, nearing her thirties. He couldn’t particularly tell her she was unattractive, however, as that would be rude.

 

“Hai, Kuchisssa-sssan. You are v-very p-pretty.”

 

Was it just him, or had the surrounding area gotten colder? The fog seemed more pronounced, somehow, more prominent. Beneath her mask, Kuchisa’s grin seemed to grow; Kyo thought she was pleased with his compliment.

 

“You are very gracious to say so, Kyo-san.” Her voice was low now, quiet. “But I wonder…what would you think? You’ve yet to see all of my face, how can you make an accurate judgment? Perhaps I should remove my mask. I do not suspect I will be getting sick today, not many people are out. Would you like to see my face, Kyo-san?” Her voice seemed to compel him to agree.

 

This didn’t make any sense. It was raining heavily, yet Kuchisa thought the only way to get sick was from other people? She did not have an umbrella. What an odd woman. And yet…he was rather curious what she looked like without the mask.

 

Nodding his head, he said, “Y-you are c-correct, Kuchisssa-sssan.”

 

Her grin seemed to grow even wider. “Perhaps you will be shocked by my beauty,” she whispered, grasping the edges of the surgical mask. She slowly removed it, pulling the elastic corners down over her ears, and letting it fall to hang around her neck.

 

Kyo stared at her lower face for a moment. He blinked. And then he stared some more.

 

Where Kuchisa’s mouth should have been, a gaping maw of disfigurement was instead in its place. It looked as though someone had taken an incredibly sharp blade to her face and carved a grin into it, her cheeks and mouth horribly butchered. Kuchisa’s mouth was slit from ear to ear, a Glasgow Grin in place of what had once been whole skin. Her grin was sinister, grotesque and twisted, and her eyes drastically changed from the darkest of blacks to an almost blinding white iris. She also seemed paler now, more ethereal. She tilted her head, smiling her demented smile at the young man.

 

“And now?” she asked, sounding almost as though she were looking for his approval.

 

“A-and now w-w-what?” Kyo stammered; it wasn’t only the alcohol’s effect on him this time. He felt the prickly cold sensation of what he recognized as fear.

 

“Am I pretty?!” she bellowed, widening her eyes as she took a step forward. The fog made it harder to see, but Kyo noticed she was now wielding a pair of impossibly large scissors. From where had she produced it? Did it simply materialize from the mist? And were those bloodstains on it?

 

It was as she was stalking menacingly towards him that it clicked. Perhaps it was the fear, the rush of adrenaline that allowed him to think a bit more clearly than before. The bloody scissors and the mutilated face acted as the catalyst – now he knew where he recognized her from. Now her name made sense.

 

 _Kuchisa_. He had wondered why that name sounded familiar, and now he realized it was part of another phrase: _kuchisake-onna_ , the Slit-Mouthed Woman. His mother had warned him of the terrible urban legend of a samurai who had become enraged at his unfaithful wife, so he had mutilated her face in a rage, killing her in the process. Her anger at her murder resulted in her returning as a malevolent spirit, intending to do unto others what her husband had done to her. It was said that on dark nights such as tonight, the Kuchisake-Onna would appear to young children while wearing her mask, asking them if she was pretty. If the child said no, they would be brutally butchered. If the child said yes, the Kuchisake-Onna would then remove her surgical mask, asking if they still thought she was beautiful. If the child said no, they would also die. If the child said yes, the Kuchisake-Onna would carve their face in a similar fashion, to make them “beautiful” as well.

 

Well shit. Kyo was screwed then.

 

The sharp clacks of her snapping the scissors caught his attention. Shit shit shit, what else was there to the urban legend? He was sure his mother had told him the way to defeat the Kuchisake-Onna, but had he been paying attention? Or couldn’t he remember because he was still sort of drunk?

 

“Kyo-san,” her high voice called, impatient, “does my appearance please you?”

 

He was taking a few steps back, still trying to think and process why the hell a supernatural creature had decided to mark him for death. It didn’t make sense: according to the urban legend, she targeted children, and he was nearly twenty. And wasn’t this supposed to be an urban legend? What, were oni and kitsune going to reveal their existences too?

 

 _“Average,”_ a voice came, soft as a whisper. _“Tell her she is average. This shall confuse her._ ”

  
“W-who sssaid t-that?” Kyo stammered, blinking rapidly. The voice was distinctly different from that of the Kuchisake-Onna’s. It seemed to be encouraging and warm. It seemed…trustworthy. But was it in his mind? He had nothing to lose. ‘ _Here’s hoping it works.’_

 

“Y-you are a-a-average,” he blurted, and the effects were immediate. Kuchisake-Onna faltered in her steps, tilting her head at his words. He could see the confusion in her eyes, and realized this was his chance to escape. Breaking into a sprint, he hightailed it out of there as fast as he could, not looking back.

 

That didn’t stop the spirit from appearing before him once more, a nonplussed expression to her face. “I am average?” Kuchisa questioned, still unsure of what to do.

 

“A-average,” Kyo repeated, a bit more firmly this time. He was sobering up quickly, the adrenaline still causing his heart and mind to race. “You are a-average, no m-more, no lesssss.”

 

“Am I beautiful?” the Kuchisake-Onna persisted, unable to process his answer. “Tell me! Am I beautiful?!”

 

 _“Ask her if you are handsome,”_ the whisper came again. _“Answer her question with one of your own.”_

 

“H-how about me? A-Am I handsssome?”

 

The Kuchisake-Onna froze – she was thoroughly unprepared for this, and her hesitance gave Kyo another opportunity to escape. Down the street he ran, taking a sharp left into a deserted alleyway. Keeping up his pace, he launched himself towards one of the walls, kicking off it to use as a base against the next wall, pushing with all his might against the wall once more to flip backwards over the barbed fence, landing deftly on the ground. His inebriation seemed to have mostly worn off in physical terms, but his speech still wasn’t at its best. Kyo silently thanked his brother for teaching him the art of parkour, as it had never come in as handy as it did then.

 

Turning to leave, he glanced about. It was once he realized that the path lead to a dead end that he realized it was a rather horrible idea to run to an isolated area with a demonic supernatural creature attempting to kill him. Kyo cursed audibly – this would be the last time he drank himself into a stupor, especially if such creatures like Kuchisake-Onna existed.

 

“ _AM I BEAUTIFUL?!”_ Her voice was impossibly loud, startling him as she materialized from the foggy mist, her presence accompanied by the familiar clacking sound of her shear-like scissors. He couldn’t out run her. He couldn’t escape from her, and he was doomed to die.

 

‘ _And is that so bad?’_ a voice in his mind whispered, one he was all too familiar with. ‘ _So what if you die? What have you to live for? Kikyou? She led you on and left you out to dry. Your mother? You know you’re her disappointing child, you could never measure up to her first-born, Kenji. Even he doesn’t acknowledge you that much; some big brother he is. Or do you still cling to that hope about your fath—‘_

_“SHUT UP!”_ Kyo roared. The Kuchisake-Onna seemed puzzled by his outburst; she did not advance any further, though her butchered visage contorted into something akin to fear. The voice had gone silent at Kyo’s outburst, but he still heard its echo in the corners of his consciousness. ‘ _It’s right,’_ Kyo thought. _‘I’ve nothing to live for. Nothing.’_

 

“You speak to me just like my husband did,” Kuchisake-Onna intoned bitterly. “He was verbally abusive, he would bellow at me to keep silent and to make no noise, whether in public or private. _Honour_ is all that wretched samurai cared about. He did not care about me, or my needs, only honourable, dignified appearances.” Her voice sounded soft, at this point. Wistful. “There was a time he was loving and kind, however. Once, long ago, he was a different man. But he soon transformed, his personality far uglier than I. It was he who drove me into the arms of another man. It was he who did this to himself. It was he who did this to _me_. But,” she grinned, “It is _I_ who shall do the same to you!” She had worked herself up into a frenzy, and the rapidity with which her scissors clacked reflected that. She once again began approaching the boy before her, her mind intent on continuing the _honourable_ legacy her husband had first bestowed upon her.

 

“You a-are be-beautiful,” Kyo said softly, before closing his eyes. He was resigned to his fate – it wasn’t as though he could escape the apparition. A hint of acknowledgement sparked in the brilliant eyes of the vengeful spirit, before she answered.

 

 _“Then I shall make you beautiful as well!”_ She lunged towards him, the enormous scissors widened and searing towards his head.

 

“And harm such a pretty face? I don’t think so.”

 

Kyo’s eyes flew open, as he heard yet another voice. It was a distinctly female voice, and he had thought they were alone. An _ofuda_ , a paper talisman, came whirring from down a foggy rooftop, and intercepted the scissors, stopping it in its tracks. The glowing paper talisman wrapped around the blades, preventing them from opening. The Kuchisake-Onna shrieked, trying and failing to regain control of her scissors. Kyo looked up – he could barely make out the shape of the woman before she leaped down and landed nimbly upon the solid ground.

 

His fatigue catching up with him, Kyo stumbled when he tried to back away from the Kuchisake-Onna. He felt his consciousness slip away from him, for the briefest of moments, as he only had an instant to recognize he was about to collide painfully with the ground.

 

A pair of firm hands appeared before him, one catching him around the waist with the other on his chest. His momentum caused him and his saviour to lower, though not enough to hit the ground, before being righted back up into a standing position. Kyo opened his eyes.

 

“T-thank you,” Kyo began, but she was not having it, an angry expression upon her face.

 

" _How can you expect to make it home if you're running recklessly, stumbling through the streets drunk?_ Be more careful _,"_ she scolded, her hands still about his waist and chest. It took him a moment to realize it, but his face seemed to be flushed more so than the alcohol would justify, and his heart was beating rapidly. Moments later, he took note of the hand on his chest, its touch cool, right over his heart.

 

Kyo's eyes widened, and he took a step back, away from her hands. The girl’s touch was seared into his mind, its lack of warmth striking him as unusual, before he remembered they were in the middle of a downpour of rain; of course she was going to be cold.

 

She gave him an odd, quizzical look, something that only served to unsettle him some more. “You’re rather warm for someone who is drenched in rain,” she acknowledged, studying him cryptically. He had been gazing at her for a few moments, and yet her fierce look was already emblazoned in his memory, despite his inebriated state. _Her reflective, dark eyes, her petite nose, her creamy skin, her red lips, a white rose in her hair...even with her hair slick with rain and all about her face...this woman is beautiful._

 

It was then that he remembered his mother's warnings, those that he had ignored so recklessly before. _Do not fall for looks alone, my sweet child, lest you be ensnared by wicked temptation._

 

" _A-A-Arigatō_ ," he whispered slurrily, bowing as deeply as his drunken state would let him. "Y-you have s-sssaved me f-from an unpleasssant ssstate."

 

"A fate that you could've all too well avoided yourself, had you taken care not to get so mind-numbingly drunk," she rebuked, but her harsh words were softened when she followed them with a smile. "And where were you off to in such a rush...?"

 

He realized she was waiting for him to say his name. "K-Kyo," he stuttered, tongue way too loose for his liking. He had just met this woman, and he already seemed to be making a fool of himself. "I wasss jussst h-h-heading back to Taka-Takamura'sss sssake ssshop. I forgot my keysss."

 

"Perhaps the gods were looking down on you, and made sure you did. Otherwise, I'm sure your driving would have resulted in a fate much worse than falling to the ground." Her quizzical eyes summed him up as she brushed back wet strands of hair from her face, pausing before she returned the polite gesture. "I am called Hatsumomo."

 

 _‘First peach,'_ he thought. Looking over her features, he saw how her face was small and delicate, her cheeks slightly rosy, and her lips red and luscious. ' _Fitting.'_

 

"I-It isss a pleasssure to meet you, H-Hatsssumomo-sssan."

 

“Save your pleasantries for later, Kyo-kun. We’ve got company, or have you forgotten?”

 

An ethereal scream served to emphasize her point. The Kuchisake-Onna advanced slowly, taking time to stew in her rage. “You will suffer for your insolence, onmyoji! Such a low-level binding spell could not possibly keep me from killing you!” The clacking of her scissors underlined her words, the metallic clanging drawing nearer and getting louder.

 

“We’ve gotta go! Come with me if you want to live!” Hatsumomo grasped his hand, her touch still unsettling, as she pulled him into a run alongside her. Just like that, they were running. Where, Kyo knew not. Away from the dead-end corner they sprinted, following the winding paths of open-ended alleys and intersecting pathways. All the while, they remained isolated from the main streets and stuck to the shadows.

 

“It’sss ussselesssss,” Kyo shouted, “she’ll catch ussss no matter what we do! She jussst won’t give up!”

 

“Neither will we!” Hatsumomo yelled back, before casting an eye back to see that Kuchisake-Onna was floating behind them, her dark hair billowing out behind her and a mad look in her lifeless eyes. “Be quiet, Kuchisake-Onna! Remain out of sight and keep silent at all times!”

 

“What’re you doing?!” Kyo gasped, disbelieving. Was she trying to incite the spectre’s wrath?

 

Hatsumomo ignored him, instead calling out to the ethereal spirit. “Must you be so loud? Must you be so troublesome? You will regret your actions, I will make sure of it!”

 

“Ssstop!! You’re going to pissss her off, you sssound like her husssb—”

 

“Her husband, I know! That’s the point!”

 

Kuchisake-Onna’s fury was tangible: a chill descended upon them, and she made wide sweeps with her bladed scissors, shrieking at them all the while. “ _You dare speak to me in such a manner? An ugly creature such as yourself?! You will regret your lewd tongue, insolent girl, I will cut it out myself! I will personally make you beautiful, so that your visage may be what your personality cannot!”_

 

This didn’t seem to faze the girl at all, as she finally led Kyo to a stretch of isolated land that housed a rather large building that he didn’t recognize. She let go of his hand, but she didn’t seem to be slowing down; with the sudden release, Kyo stumbled, falling to the ground as Hatsumomo disappeared from his sight. Scrambling up, he made to dash after her, but Kuchisake-Onna materialized before him, cutting off his path.

 

Kyo didn’t know what to do – had Hatsumomo betrayed him? Had she sacrificed him just so she could get away? No, that didn’t make sense…why would she save him only to ditch him to his death? Did she have some sort of a plan? She certainly didn’t say anything to him about it. Suddenly he felt the beginnings of doubt crawl into his mind. Who was she, and why had he trusted her? She was a stranger. Sure, she had saved him before, but had she only done that to give him hope before dooming him? She was beautiful, just as beautiful, if not more so, than Kikyou. She had also proven herself clever and skilled. Had his mother not warned him? _'Beautiful but deadly. Do not fall for looks alone, my sweet child, lest you be ensnared by wicked temptation.”_

 

“Are you?” he murmured, eyes downcast as he felt a sort of defeated calm come over him. He recognized it as disappointment. It had happened again. He had fallen for it once more. His eyes flashed angrily, glaring in the direction of in which she had run off. “ _ARE YOU A KITSSSUNE?!”_

 

 

And then…” _She is not a kitsune. She is an ally. Trust her.”_

 

There it was again. That voice…the one that seemed to come from within his head, the warm one. Anger pushed out his thoughts of the voice, and his remark was simple.

 

“I’m not one for trussst.”

 

Ever closer Kuchisake-Onna drew, her giant shears snapping pointedly. As a last ditch effort, Kyo pulled out his lime-green lighter, feeling its warmth even though he hadn’t summoned the flame yet. Sparking the wheel, the white-blue flame burst to life, flickering as it thrived in the air. Thrusting his hand forward, he put the fire between him and the demon spirit as though it would ward her off.

 

“Back off!” he shouted, waving his arm haphazardly. “You’re made of ectoplasssm, aren’t you? I don’t know much about it, but I’m betting it’sss flammable. Care to tessst my theory?”

 

Kuchisake-Onna did not hesitate in the slightest, as she zoomed towards him, her enormous scissors opened wide and ready to slash at him. Instinctively bringing his valued lighter back to him, Kyo closed his eyes in anticipation for the blow, exhaling what may have been his last.

 

A shriek caused his eyes to fly open, as he witnessed a large torrent of flames engulf the sinister spirit. Her scream was ethereal and haunting, horrifying Kyo as he witnessed the mass of flames that was Kuchisake-Onna.

 

What scared him even more was where the flames had come from: Kyo himself.

 

Surprise seized him, as he tried to process what happened: from whence had those flames come? His first instinct had been that Hatsumomo had summoned them, but she was nowhere near him. And when he had opened his eyes, he had seen the flames emanating from his mouth. But how?

 

 _‘The alcohol,’_ Kyo realized. He had been drinking rather heavily earlier, and perhaps when he had exhaled, it had been enough fuel to start a chain reaction with his lighter’s flame. Even then, to think that he was capable of scorching Kuchisake-Onna…surely his breath wasn’t that powerful? And wasn’t it raining? How had his lighter even managed to stay alight?

 

“In here!” Hatsumomo’s voice broke his contemplation, and he saw her gazing at him in surprise before he dashed towards to nearby warehouse. Outside, the rain was starting to put out the inferno on the ghost, and her shrieks only seemed to grow more and more feral. She was in hot pursuit, shrieking like a banshee as she threatened them with brutal retribution.

 

“ _I will not be bested by children! I will not be defeated! I am Kuchisake-Onna, the Slit-Mouthed Woman, and I am the most beautiful woman to ever live! I killed my blood-thirsty samurai husband, I will not be bested by an onmyoji and a drunk! I refuse it! Die now, and be gone from my sight, you ugly, wretched things!”_

 

“Why must you be so angry? Cool down,” Hatsumomo mused, nonchalantly. Pulling out an ofuda talisman from her back pocket, she threw it in the direction of Kuchisake-Onna, who saw it coming and snipped it clean in half.

 

“ _Your tricks will not work a second time, witch! You must think me a fool to attempt the same jest twice!”_

 

“No, I don’t think you a fool. I think you distracted.” It was just before Kuchisake-Onna snipped the talisman that a second talisman broke away from the first, catching the spirit by surprise and binding to her forehead. Immediately, she froze, paralyzed as the kanji on the ofuda glowed a brilliant white. Raising a hand with her index and middle fingers pointed up, the rest curled, Hatsumomo thrust out her other palm in the direction of the Kuchisake-Onna.

 

“I’m only a beginner, so I normally wouldn’t be able to generate much water on my own.” Hatsumomo’s eyebrows slanted downwards, a focused look coming onto her face. “I can only create and control small amounts of water vapour. Unfortunately for you, the fact that it’s raining outside greatly helps me – I may not be able to _produce_ a lot of water, but I certainly can _control_ it.”

 

The letters on the ofuda grew brighter, and Kyo could make them out now: it read _FREEZE_. He was just about to ask how she had managed to bind the spirit, but all of the windows imploded simultaneously, the work of exploding paper talismans, and a torrential downpour of rain from outside flew in, flooding the room. Not losing a beat, Hatsumomo bit the thumb of the hand with the palm thrust out, blood flowing out, and tapped her index and middle fingers of the same hand on each other, before drawing symbols in the air before her with her bloodied fingers. Kyo read them as she wrote it, and realized she was writing the kanji for _‘Binding Technique #13: Water Prison.’_

 

Thrusting her palm out, a slip of paper materialized around the writing in the air, and she cast the ofuda towards the Kuchisake-Onna’s forehead, lying on top of the first, and instantly the water rose up and engulfed Kuchisake-Onna, forming a massive liquid sphere around her. Hatsumomo again began to write on the air before her, and this time she winced, groaning slightly as she scribbled _‘Binding Technique #19: Frozen Fortress.’_ Repeating the process once more, her palm summoned the paper which appeared around her writing, and she tossed it towards her opponent once more, the ofuda attaching itself to the flowing water prison. Narrowing her eyes at the immobilized and unresponsive ghost, she murmured, “Chill out,” she mocked, and Kyo just stared at her. Did she really just utter a lame pun?

 

Hatsumomo’s right hand was still closed aside from her index and middle fingers, and her left palm that was stretched outwards closed, and the water forming the prison instantly froze over, sealing the spirit within as the paper talisman glowed to indicate it was active. In the middle of the room, Kuchisake-Onna stood, defeated within an orb of ice. Sighing, Hatsumomo slid down to her knees, hands on the ground as she panted from exhaustion. Despite that, she still managed to find the strength for a weak smile.

 

“W-what wasss that…?” Kyo asked, disbelieving. He had just witnessed more supernatural phenomena in under an hour than he had in his entire life. A ghost, a witch, and magic. _Magic_. All of it was real? “A-Are you a w-witch?”

 

Hatsumomo chuckled, before gasping, clutching her chest. Kyo was instantly at her side, gazing at her concernedly. “I’m fine,” she assured him, and he sat beside her, watching her carefully. “And no, I’m not a witch. I’m an onmyoji. Though I suppose the differences are few and far in-between.”

 

“I’ve never heard of an onmyoji before. What isss that?”

 

Hatsumomo seemed drained, her breathing laboured and coming in ragged, deep breaths. “Too much to explain now…let’s save that…for when we get back to Takamura’s. You’ve got to…get your keys…remember?”

 

She seemed to be in pain, as though her activities had put a huge strain on her. Kyo reached out a trembling hand and placed it on her forehead, which was incredibly cool. Was she getting sick because of the rain?

 

“You’re…warm,” she murmured, eyes fluttering between open and closed. Her breathing seemed to steadily even out, and she absentmindedly reached up to make sure the white rose was still at her right temple.

 

“You sssound like you’re…”

 

“…Dying? Hardly.” She gave him a weak grin. “It’s just that…I’m an apprentice, relatively new to the practice of Onmyodo. Normally, I wouldn’t be able to harness enough chi to pull off such intensive moves. I’m surprised I was even capable of executing such high-level techniques, especially for someone of my level. I lied when I told her I could control that amount of water. Those were the first enchantments I’ve managed to cast, my first _mizudo_.” She saw his puzzled look. “Mizudo is “the Way of the Water”, which is skill set used by those capable of the mystic elemental arts – their spirit must be adaptable and fluid if they are to efficiently use the spells of the mizudo. At my level, though, I can only do low-ranking defensive mizudo techniques. It helped that it was rainy outside, since it drastically reduced the amount of water I would need to have successfully cast the binding mizudo, but still, transforming water into ice was difficult and way out of my league. It’s an incredibly advanced technique, and I was only capable with great risk to myself; I suspect that I used up far more chi than I intended, which led to physical repercussions. I suppose Lady Luck was smiling down on me this night.” She paused, sighing as she slowly began to feel better. “As I am now, I only have control over water vapour, which I make effective use for as covers and defensive maneuvers. Let’s just be glad that the spells worked, otherwise I suspect we would be the ones not moving.”

 

Kyo followed her gaze towards the bound Kuchisake-Onna, and Hatsumomo saw his unspoken question in his eyes. “Don’t worry, she’s not going anywhere. We can leave her here for now, no one will be able to undo the spell unless they are of greater skill than I. Onmyojis are few and far in between, and I only know of one other.”

 

“Who?” _There were others?_

 

“As a matter of fact, you met her earlier tonight. It is to her shop that we will now return.”

 

Kyo gasped. _Takamura_. There had been something about her, some wisdom he felt she possessed – had that been because she was an onmyoji?

 

Hatsumomo grinned. “Let me guess. She seemed really wise, right? Like she knew more than she was letting on, and that she was knowledgeable beyond her years, am I right? You've no idea how true that is. Shall we get going?” She smiled politely, but Kyo could tell she had a mischievous quality to her.

 

"S-SSSure," Kyo said. "Let usss be on our way."

 

They made their way back to Takamura's saké shop, Hatsumomo holding Kyo by the arm so as to steady him and prevent him from falling again. It wasn't long before the large sign in kanji came into view, reading _Takamura's Saké Shop - Drown Your Sorrows To Death_. They entered the shop, sopping wet and dripping on her carpet, a fact that did not escape Takamura's notice.

 

" _Oi!_ _Anata no wa nani o shite iru to omoimasu ka?!_ _?_ _What do you think you are doing??_ Get over here, stop dripping on my carpet, and stand by the fire!"

 

She gestured towards the blazing fireplace, and Hatsumomo murmured an apology to Takamura while dragging Kyo to the chairs near the fire. Its warmth was refreshing, and the flames leapt high as they crackled merrily. Takamura kept a sharp eye on the couple, a rather unamused expression on her face. She did not appreciate having her ornate, hand-woven Chinese carpet ruined, for it had been a gift.

 

Belatedly, after hearing Takamura speak part of her sentence in English (apparently the only part that wasn't shouted angrily at them), Kyo realized that Hatsumomo had also spoken English as well. " _Be more careful,"_ she had said. Kyo blinked in surprise.

 

"Where did you learn English?" he questioned in the tongue, impressed. He hadn't met many people fluent in English.

 

"Online," she responded in English, not bothering to elaborate further. "Takamura also entertains my language preference; not as many people understand it here, so it's easier to speak freely." She had a cryptic smile about her, and it only served to confuse Kyo even more.

 

His mastery over his speech was coming back to him, and this was good: now he could figure out _what the hell_ had just happened.

 

Turning back to his new companion, he arched an eyebrow. Seeing his look, she nodded – she knew he had to have a ton of questions for her.

 

“Alright, alright. Where do you want to begin?”

 

“First things first: what in the seven hells is an onmyoji?”

 

Hatsumomo pondered on that. “Jeez, Abe no Seimei would be rolling in his grave right now. How to explain it? I suppose defining it first is best. An onmyoji is a practitioner of the Onmyodo arts, the Way of Yin and Yang. There are many different subsets, and many different methods with which to employ it. I personally prefer the ofuda, as it is easier for me to handle and channel my chi into the paper talismans, though there are those who would rather allocate their abilities from feng shui, a form of Chinese geomancy, those who can summon the spirit-like Shikigami to do one’s bidding, and even the Gobosei, the pentagram style of the mystic arts.”

 

“Is that all there is?”

 

“No. There are countless ways to tap into one’s reserve of life force, which, as you know, is referred to as _chi_ here in Japan. Elsewhere, they call it _mana, chakra_ , and a whole host of other things. I’ve even heard it called _furyoku._ In the end, it is all the same: the energy of life within us that connects us to nature and the natural circle of life. But that is not all: it’s more than that. It is also the link between an individual and all of creation, as we are all a small part of the whole, the universe itself. A small change can have big ramifications, regardless of whether or not it’s for the better or worse.” She raised a single finger. “I am a single person with the potential for great power. This power lies within us all, as we all hold a small piece of it. Regardless of race, creed, gender, or any other dividing characteristic, we are all connected by the greatest link of all: life.”

 

Kyo stared blankly at her. “You’re sounding super cheesy right now.”

 

She laughed. “Cheesy or not, it’s true. I know it’s a lot to take in, but that’s the way of things. You’ve now been introduced into a world that not many are privy too. Although I suspect that if they knew at what price it came, they would prefer to be ignorant to it.”

 

“What of Kuchisake-Onna? She was real all along? I thought she was an urban legend.”

 

“Even urban legends have their roots in the truth. If you believe the legends are lies, you’d do well to remember that every lie contains a seed of truth.”

 

“Kitsune? Oni? Teke Teke?”

 

“Yes, yes, and I’m not too sure, though I don’t know anyone alive who has ever seen them. Operative word being ‘alive.’ I guess if they really had met her, we shouldn’t expect them to confirm.”

 

“Why were you there? On a rooftop, watching over _her_ and myself, when there was no one else there?”

 

She brushed back her hair behind her white rose, dismissing his implications. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t following _you_ , I was tracking the strong spiritual presence I felt. I had been sensing it for a few weeks now, and there have been some children unfortunate enough to go missing and presumed deceased. Takamura had dispatched me to disperse the malevolent spirit, as a sort of training regimen to better my abilities – ‘on the field, real life experience’ and all that.”

 

“Wait, Takamura’s training you? You’re her apprentice – _she’s_ your mentor?”

 

“Yes, she is. Intense and unforgiving, but she gets the job done with marvellous results. Anyways, she sent me to dispel the evil spirit haunting this city. However, whenever I did manage to track down her latest target, she would have been long gone. It was by chance that I came across you, and by extension, Kuchisake-Onna. I followed you, waiting for an opportunity to take her by surprise, because it’s the most effective element in a hostile situation. Thanks to your being easy bait, she became easy pickings for me as well.” She grinned at him. “Thanks a lot, Kyo-kun~” she teased, “You were a great help.”

 

Something seemed to click. “Wait, is that why she let me drink? To send me as bait to lure out Kuchisa, er, Kuchisake-Onna? But why me? How did you know she would go for me?”

 

Leaning in close, Hatsumomo raised a single finger. “Simple.” Pointing at him, she poked him right in the chest. “Spirits are attracted to people and things with strong spiritual auras – pure things such as children are often victims of the paranormal as a result. Maybe she mistook you as a child. You are, after all, baby-faced. You also have your own spiritual presence, Kyo, and Takamura made quick note of it and swiftly adapted you into the plan on how to lure out and defeat Kuchisake-Onna. You were a random anomaly no one saw coming, so I suspect the fates had a hand in this.” Smiling all the more brightly, she nudged him playfully in the arm. “We were meant to meet. That’s what I believe.”

 

Kyo racked his brains for more questions, fishing in his pocket to play with his lighter. He knew he had a lot, but he was having trouble figuring out how to word them. “Okay, so you say you’re not a witch. But are you a…a _waterbender?_ ”

 

That had her laughing heartily, a beautiful, tinkling sound that caused Kyo’s heart to race. He had made her laugh. “What, like Katara from _Avatar: The Last Airbender?_ No, no, I’m not a waterbender. As I said, I’m just an onmyoji, and I just so happen to have an affinity for water. Though, from what I witnessed, you may have an affinity yourself.”

 

Kyo arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

 

“She means there is more than you than meets the eye.” Takamura joined the conversation from behind her bar, leaning on her forearms which seemed to cup her large breasts, gazing at them both. She produced a kiseru, a Japanese smoking pipe, from her dark hair which subsequently tumbled down from its bun, cascading down her back; Kyo realized she had been using the kiseru to keep her hair in place. She lit it and puffed languidly on it, exhaling copious clouds of smoke. "You wouldn’t happen to be a Transformer, would you?”

 

Kyo was laughing, but Hatsumomo was taken by surprise. “Takamura, it’s rather odd of you to make a joke. If I hadn’t been taught to believe none of what I hear and half of what I see, I’d almost think that you were capable of _humour_.”

 

“Oh, I’m quite capable of humour, Hatsumomo.” Inhaling deeply, she cast an unamused eye towards the girl. “Only few people seem to understand it, however. But that’s another topic for another time. What have you been up to? If this Kyo boy knows of your abilities as an onmyoji, I’m going to assume you actually had an encounter with that troublesome spirit. I should hope you were not showing off your techniques as a means with which to impress him into courting you.”

 

Hatsumomo and Kyo both blushed, though he did note that it looked cute on her. Hatsumomo caught his eye, before darting her gaze away. “N-No, I had no choice. We were attacked by the Kuchisake-Onna, he helped me to distract her while I imprisoned her within the Water Prison and Frozen Fortress mizudo techniques. She’s immobilized in a warehouse far from where any civilians could get to her. There’s no way she’s getting out, we’ve got her.”

 

Takamura nodded, acknowledging Hatsumomo’s work as acceptable. She puffed for a moment on her kiseru, taking a second to revel in it, before speaking.

 

“Did you learn anything from your experience today? It would hardly prove fruitful to do a task without learning the moral Aesop behind it.”

 

“Er…when fishing for spirits, use drunk boys as bait?”

 

Takamura cracked a smile. “’Assistance often comes in the most unusual of ways, and usually turns complete strangers into unwitting allies.’ But close enough. Did he help you at all?”

 

“Surprisingly, yes. He certainly seems to have the potential to become prodigious in the elemental arts. What I saw from him surprised me, if we’re still operating by the ‘believe none of what you hear and half of what you see’ rule. I’ll tell you more later.”

 

Takamura narrowed her eyes, eyebrows slanting as her dark eyes studied the boy before her. Rather abruptly, she switched tracks, still speaking to Hatsumomo.

 

“How's your sister?"

 

"I imagine she's alive and well, Takamura, though as isolated as ever. It's as though she doesn't care to acknowledge her only sibling, especially after we lost our parents several years ago." She gazed downward as she reflected, speaking almost as though to herself. "It's been seven years, Takamura, and still the pain does not lessen. I imagine I'd have to live with this for the rest of my life, Sayuri too. And yet, she does not reach out to her sister as I do to her. Why is that?" She ended her question with a sorrowful tone, one that made Kyo feel bad for her.

 

Takamura inhaled, exhaling smoke lazily through her fine nostrils. She gazed at Hatsumomo sagely. "Because different people handle the same problem differently. Some latch onto others more fiercely, others distance themselves. As alike as you are, you two are also equally different. You've reached out to her, attempting to strengthen your bond. She shies away, because she is not willing to lose anyone else she loves. Even if she has to lose you in the process to do it. She is feeling her own pain over this, so I'd leave her be if I were you. Should it be ordained that you two reconcile, it shall come to be. The pain does not lessen, but your ability to cope with it increases. Trust in no more than that."

 

"You always know what to say, Takamura." Hatsumomo smiled her gentle smile, one that Takamura returned. "Are you sure you're not a benevolent Kitsune?"

 

Takamura scoffed. "Flattery will get you nowhere with me, Hatsumomo. I still expect you to pay for sogging up my carpet and dripping over my premises." She waggled the kiseru threateningly. Hatsumomo knew better than to argue.

 

"Would I cheat you, Takamura-san?" Hatsumomo smiled innocently. Takamura snorted in response.

 

"You may feel that you're clever enough to get your way, Hatsumomo- _chan_ , but I know you only use honourifics with me when you want something. Don't even try it. Not to mention you've got a tab to pay."

 

Hatsumomo frowned. Takamura was a tough lady, and one with an unbending will. There was no point in trying to convince her. And that tab was enormous...it would take forever to pay off.

 

"I'll pay it."

 

Hatsumomo turned to Kyo in surprise, her face one of pure shock. Who was he to pay her tab? He didn't even know her that well, and he was already doing her this kindness?

 

Takamura narrowed her eyes but said nothing. Kyo got up and pulled out his wallet, bringing several bills out of it. He placed them on the table, and Takamura swatted it away without batting an eye.

 

"I don't want your money." She waved him away dismissively, and he just stared at her bewildered. "I want hers."

 

"But-"

 

"Don't bother, Kyo," Hatsumomo interjected. "I know Takamura very well. She believes that people should pay their own things, take care of their own affairs, and settle their own debts. Self-sufficient to a fault, she's foreign to outside help and expects the same from her patrons." She chuckled. "Admirable, but old-fashioned."

 

"This is her debt to settle, boy," Takamura said bluntly, pointing her kiseru at him. "Hers and hers alone."

 

"But I paid you extra when I came here earlier and you said nothing about that!"

 

"That was for the advice and the lending of an ear. I've only got two, you know."

 

Hatsumomo laughed brightly. "That's Takamura for you, an opportunistic woman if there ever was one. Alright, then, Takamura. Deduct from my tab the pay for this Kuchisake-Onna job. I’m slowly working my way to freedom!"

 

The barkeep snorted. “You weren’t saying that nine years ago when I saved you from that wretched fate you had in store. I haven’t heard a single complaint these past seven years that you had a roof over your head, food in your stomach, and knowledge in your head.” Hatsumomo smiled sheepishly, not bothering to disagree – it was true, she was grateful that Takamura had taken her in.

 

Takamura turned to Kyo. "Where are you staying, Kyo?"

 

"With my older brother Kenji, he's out of town at the moment."

 

"Go upstairs and take the third room on the right. My bar also happens to be the bottom floor of my inn."

 

Kyo's eyes widened. "B-but why? I'm perfectly fine going home by mysel--"

 

"Not in this state, you're not. You may appear sober, but I know a drunk when I see one. Besides, you came back for your car keys, right?" She produced the keys from within the folds of her kimono sleeve. "You shan't be getting them until sunrise. Now go." And with that, she tossed the keys back up her sleeve as she brought her hands together, out of sight once more.

 

Kyo could do nothing but as she asked. Well, not necessarily asked, more so _dictated._ He was quickly getting to know what Hatsumomo meant by "typical Takamura."

 

Up the stairs he stumbled, unaware of the presence behind him. He paused halfway up, leaning against the railing to gather his bearings and catch a breath. He had almost _died_ tonight. That seemed surreal to him – he had never really expected to be fallible to death this young, his life hadn’t even really started yet, even if he had experienced so much. Sighing, he composed himself before he remembered that he felt a presence, and turned around. No one was there. That seemed rather odd. Nevertheless, he continued his small trek up towards the rooms. It wasn't until he reached the top and turned to open the door did he realize that Hatsumomo had followed him, and strode into his room, turning on the light as she did so.

 

"W-what're you doing?" Kyo stuttered, perplexed by her boldness. Wasn't it inappropriate for men and women to share the same room to sleep?

 

"I live in this inn too, y’know. There's room for two."

 

"But it's not right for men and women to share the same roo-"

 

"Oh, lighten up, will you? We’re not a married couple, right? It's not like we're obligated to do anything. What're you scared of?"

 

At the mention of a married couple, Kyo reddened immensely. _'What is she saying? Why is she taking this so lightly??'_

 

The blush didn't escape her notice. "Oooh, is Kyo-kun _embarrassed?"_ She chuckled at that, a playful sort of mirth exuding from her. "What's there to be embarrassed about? Listen, Kyo. Things are only as awkward as you make them. Don't go showing those lovely red cheeks of yours to every situation you encounter."

 

"I'm not embarrassed!" He avoided her gaze, his eyes darting around the room to distract him from the situation. He wasn't at his best right now, and she was making a fool of him. He didn't like that.

 

Looking around, he noticed a wall piece above the fireplace mantle. Two hooks stood out, and perched on them was a long, elegant sword. The pitch black sheath was elaborately designed, images of fantastically drawn, blood-red dragons soaring along unto the tip, rainbow-scaled bellies providing a stark contrast to the dark, omnipresent colour theme. The handle was wrought with what appeared to be gold, ornately crafted and gave forth a presence of great power and delicate appearance, a precarious yet masterful balance. Kyo stood there, almost transfixed by the sword. Hatsumomo followed his gaze, and seemed to feel the same way, letting out an awed gasp as she stared on – this room was usually locked, so she had never seen its contents. Silently, they began to approach it, hands stretched out to touch the handle. It had sharp ridges, which paradoxically made it seem hostile yet gave one ease of grip. Kyo's hand hesitantly neared the handle.

 

_"Yamate!"_

 

Kyo's hands stopped short of the blade, his head whipping around to face the owner of the voice. Hatsumomo did the same, and both cringed as a sharp, flickering light was cast upon them. The room was dark except for this light; Kyo realized somebody must've turned off the light. He figured Takamura did, with some sort of frugal attempt to save money in mind. He and Hatsumomo raised hands to their eyes, attempting to block out the flickering blaze in the oil lantern Takamura carried.

 

"What do you think you are doing?" Takamura's words were sharp, though not so much as her gaze. While her attractive face kept calm, Kyo could tell in the way that her eyebrows slanted and her tone that she was none too pleased.

 

"We were just looking at the sword. It's really interesting, I feel drawn to it. I was wondering if I could hav--"

 

"No. Go to bed."

 

"But I'll pay you a lot for it, I really need this swor--"

 

"It is not for sale. _Go to bed."_

 

Kyo realized his defeat. By the light of the lantern, he was able to find his way to the bed, Hatsumomo taking the bed across from his. Takamura's watchful eyes never left them for a moment until they were in bed. It was then she strode over to the sword hitched on the wall above the mantelpiece and removed it from its place holder, slinging it across her back. She made to leave the room, looking back once more at them and leaving some lingering words.

 

"It's for the best if you do not touch this sword, Kyo. It is said that it was forged by a most cruel and vicious ancient demon spirit, and whosoever unsheathes it will succumb to its power and be doomed to slaughter all, strangers and loved ones alike, as punishment for daring to wield this demonic blade." She gave him an appraising look once more, her beautiful face impassive. "And it seems to me you've lost loved ones enough."

 

With that ominous warning, she strode from the room, taking the light with her and leaving Kyo to the darkness and his thoughts.


	4. Yin 2: Friendly Advice

Sunlight filtered in from the window, despite the curtains being drawn. It seemed Takamura was too cheap to invest in curtains that actually completed their use. Or maybe it was just a tactic to get her patrons out quickly, Kyo wasn't sure. It was probably both.

 

Groaning, he rubbed lazily at his eyes, his head throbbing all the while. He shouldn't have had too much to drink. Yet still, he could clearly remember last night, especially towards the end. There had been a sword, he recalled, one that seemed to call to him. It was an exquisite sword, and, despite not knowing a thing about it, he felt as though it wanted him to wield it. Almost as if...he rightfully owned it.

 

' _But I don't,'_ Kyo reminded himself. He didn't know why that sword was so important, he just knew that it _was._ He had to find out more.

 

Sitting up, he blearily glanced around the bright room. It was way past sunrise, that's for sure. He could get his keys back from Takamura, at least. The room was oddly silent, and he realized why.

 

"Hatsumomo," he called. He didn't hear a response. "Hatsumomo?"

 

"She left, boy," a voice said, nonchalantly. Takamura. "Hours ago, while you were still snoring."

 

Kyo turned to face the doorway, and there stood the innkeep, a different kimono hanging elegantly off her body. This one was silken, white with brilliant pink roses blooming along vibrant green vine-like stems. She wore a cerulean obi sash around her waist, emphasizing her figure. Her hair was done up once more, and since he didn't spot her kiseru, he knew that it must've been back to its function of keeping her hair in place. Kyo had to admit, Takamura looked as pretty – and intimidating – as ever.

 

"Takamura," he began, but was cut off when he saw her indicate the bathroom to the right.

 

"Freshen up and come down for breakfast," she said, leaving no room for argument. "You have five minutes."

 

And with a swirl of her kimono, she was gone, her geta shoes clacking softly against the wooden floor. Kyo tossed the covers off himself, and trudged over to the bathroom. He saw an unopened toothbrush box and smiled to himself. Takamura always seemed to be several steps ahead of him, which he supposed was a good thing. Lathering an ample amount of toothpaste on the brush and running it under a bit of cold water, Kyo set to preparing himself for breakfast. All the while, he was thinking of Takamura's words regarding the sword's history.

 

It had been forged by a demon, she said, and anyone who dared to unsheathe it would be forced to slaughter everyone, regardless of your relation to them. Kyo didn't doubt Takamura's words; after all, he had felt how powerful the sword was while it was just sitting there, perched on the wall. He didn't think he could stay away from it, though. Kyo was curious to a fault, much like a cat, and that sword was simply far too tempting to ignore, caution be damned.

 

Seven minutes later, he deemed himself presentable. He patted his right back pocket, and felt it empty. His wallet was missing. He frowned. If he had to guess, it was Hatsumomo who took it. He sighed, and headed down for breakfast. Out the room he walked, and he took the first step down...only to slide the rest of the way.

 

The stairs had become a slide.

 

_"Aiii!"_

 

Kyo slid down the now ramp-like stairs, banging into the wall, slamming into the railing, and landing in a heap at the foot of what were stairs. A lot of his body ached, and the pounding in his head, which hadn't quite gone away, was now throbbing worse than ever. He just lay there, waiting for the pain to pass. "How the hell did that happened? What happened to the stairs?"

 

He heard a pair of feet clacking towards him. He could tell it was Takamura, from the sound of her gait and her wooden geta. "You were late," she said, gazing down at him. "I told you five minutes. You took seven. Now get up."

 

" _Nani? You changed the stairs because I was_ late _??"_

 

"I do not believe I stuttered, Kyo-san. I do believe, however, that I asked you to get up."

 

"My body hurts too much to stand."

 

Takamura turned a stern stare on him. A flurry of movement from her kimono sleeve revealed a dagger, which she threw with no hesitation towards Kyo's throat. The boy barely whirled out of the way before the blade impaled where his throat had been moments before, Kyo having been seconds away from death. His bewildered eyes turned on Takamura.

 

" _You tried to kill me!"_

 

Takamura smiled slightly. "And now you're up. Let us go break our fast." She stooped down, retrieving the blade, which disappeared before Kyo saw where it went. He assumed it went back up her kimono sleeve. She shuffled away, Kyo staring slack-jawed in her wake. A few seconds later, he hastily got up and limped after her. He didn't want a repeat of what had just happened. And with Takamura, it was clear that that was entirely possible.

 

The bar was buzzing with clientele, eating breakfast items like steamed rice, natto, a small portion of fish, and miso soup of varying ingredients. Kyo stared at wonder in the room buzzing with talk, speaking in hushed tones with Takamura.

 

"What is this, a bed and breakfast too? What don't you own, Takamura?"

 

She gave a demure smile, responding, "Of course, Kyo-san. This is an inn, after all." Takamura gestured to an empty table near the back of the room, with the same food items displayed as on other tables. Kyo winced as he sat down, his body still sore from his tumble, sitting on his legs. While staring at the food, he realized just how hungry he was. A sudden thought struck him.

 

"I don't have any money. Hatsumomo took my wallet."

 

"The food's already paid for."

 

Kyo raised a quizzical eyebrow. "What? By who? I thought whoever was receiving the service had to pay?"

 

"Hatsumomo ordered the food for herself and paid for herself. You just happen to be the one eating it."

 

Kyo shook his head. What a mysterious woman Takamura was. He didn't know how her mind worked. Grabbing a pair of chopsticks, he bowed before saying, " _Itadakimasu._ Thank you for the food." He broke the chopsticks apart, and began to eagerly eat his food.

 

Takamura eyed him benevolently, pulling out a hand-held _sensu_ fan from her sleeve. She fanned herself as she questioned Kyo.

 

"Kyo-san, you say your brother, Kenji-san, is out of town for the moment. Might I know why?"

 

Kyo looked up, slurping on his miso soup. Was she interested in his past? Or was she simply making polite conversation? He knew better than to deny her what she wanted, though, because that usually meant more unnecessary pain for him.

 

Pausing a moment while figuring out what to say, he noticed more people were entering the inn. A few people stood out from the group, however. Five men and a single woman entered, blocking the doorway. Silence fell like a blanket around the tavern's inhabitants, an unsettling hush. Takamura seemed to pay them no mind, her back to them as she continued to stare intently at Kyo, awaiting his answer. He was too fixated on the newcomers to remember Takamura's question.

 

The single woman of the group seemed to be in front, and Kyo immediately knew she was the leader of the bunch. She wore business attire, an elegant black jacket and dress pants, as well as a red shirt. Her jacket was unbuttoned. She wore black high heels, and on her face were a pair of dark sunglasses. Her lips were a brilliant shade of red, the work of lipstick. Her hair was unencumbered by a tie or anything of the sort, so it cascaded down her back freely, shiny and black. Her face was pretty, but it was an austere sort of beauty. She didn't seem to be the sort to play games or take no for an answer.

 

Her companions were men of varying heights and weights, though they all seemed to be donning black business suits and sunglasses. One even had a scar clearly visible on his throat; how he had survived a throat wound, Kyo wondered. It looked to be pretty deep, judging by the scar.

 

"Kyo-san."

 

Kyo's attention snapped back to Takamura, an annoyed expression on her face. "I asked you about your brother Kenji-san. It's rather rude to not answer questions, especially when your host asks them."

 

Takamura picked up a pair of chopsticks, and snapped them apart. She began to eat the food as well, still awaiting his answer. Even then, she somehow managed to make simply eating food seem elegant. Kyo was more than distracted, however, by the people at the door.

 

The room was still silent, aside from the sounds of Takamura's eating. Kyo opened his mouth and began to point to the people, but Takamura cut him off.

 

"Don't bother. They are of no importance. Eat your food."

 

He wanted to argue, but he knew it would be to no avail. She seemed to know more about them than him, after all. Focusing on them, he noticed the woman reach into her jacket and withdraw a shiny, metallic object. Kyo's eyes widened: he realized what that was. _A kunai._ He opened his mouth to alert Takamura, but the sharp weapon was already on its way to Takamura's head.

 

Without missing a beat, the chopsticks Takamura had been using to eat clasped together, plucking the kunai out of the air and stopping it dead in its tracks. Kyo stared at her in disbelief. _She hadn't even turned around._ Who _was_ this woman? How could she do that? Where did she learn to do that? More importantly, Kyo wanted to know who the people at the door were. Who were these people? Why was everyone so afraid of them? It was then that the sounds of their approach were noticed by Kyo, and he figured he'd know very soon why they were so feared.

 

Takamura released her chopsticks' grip on the kunai, almost in distaste, before breaking open a new pair as she continued eating, ignoring the group as they neared. It wasn't until that the stopped less than a foot away from her did she acknowledge their existence, still without turning around.

 

"My my, if it isn't an old patron of mine. What brings you here, Misaki-san?"

Kyo blinked. Why was she speaking in English? Was it so that a majority of the tavern didn't understand?

 

The woman of the group smiled, though it seemed more like a sneer. "Nothing in particular, Takamura-san. Just thought I'd visit you an old friend and give you some much needed advice."

 

' _Old friend?'_ Kyo thought. Takamura knew her? What sort of history did she have with such an unsavoury group?

 

Takamura snorted. "It's not particularly nice to attack someone with their back turned, especially in their place of work, doubly so when in their home. And yet now you feel the need to offer advice? Here's some for you: try not to be so predictable next time, Misaki-san. You're still a hundred years too early to kill me with my back turned. Where are your manners? If you're going to even try to kill me, you should at least break bread with me first."

 

The woman, Misaki, placed a hand on her hip, the smirk still on her face. "You speak of manners, Takamura-san, yet you're speaking to an old friend without even turning to acknowledge them. I would imagine a hostess to welcome clientele with every grace, as opposed to not even giving them the courtesy of seeing your face."

 

Takamura placed down her chopsticks neatly, picking up her hand-held _sensu_ fan as she turned in her seat, crossing her legs. All but her eyes were hidden behind the fan, and Kyo felt a bit giddy inside. While she did indeed turn to see them, she still denied them the luxury of seeing her full face. Takamura was an interesting woman, of that there was no doubt.

 

"You see what you know, Misaki-san. I'm quite sure you shan't forget my face, _old friend._ Just as I am not likely to forget your eyes, covered up as they are."

 

"Common courtesies should always be observed, Takamura-san. I'd expect you, iron-will as usual, to understand that more than anyone." The woman snapped a finger, and one of the men with her instantly placed a chair behind her. Not a second after she had snapped, she made to sit down and did so swiftly and smoothly, crossing a leg over the other. ' _She has total control,'_ Kyo realized, ' _she has trained them well.'_

 

"How have you kept yourself, Takamura-san?" the woman questioned, a mockingly polite tone used. "I can see that your business--" she glanced around, almost in distaste, with several patrons turning away from her gaze instantly -- "...is booming."

 

"There is always a need for a place to stay, saké to drink, and breakfast to eat. Just as there is, I suppose, a need for your thug group to recruit more riff raff."

 

The woman raised a fine eyebrow, arching it in displeasure. "Riff raff?" She chuckled lightly, and Kyo could tell that there was barely any mirth in her tone. "You did not think so all those years ago when you used to run with us."

 

_Takamura worked with a gang._ Kyo didn't know how to feel. He couldn't believe it. Righteous, good-intentioned, tradition-oriented Takamura...a gang member? He couldn't possibly imagine it. _But how had she stopped the kunai? Where did she learn such tricks?_ If she _had_ been in a gang, it would've explained so much...

 

The innkeeper stared directly into the sunglasses of the female Yakuza member. "Key words being ' _all those years ago_ ,' Misaki-san. I've wisened up. Something, clearly, you haven't. A pity. You had such a bright future ahead of you, as the daughter of the Commissioner General of the National Police Agency." She gave Misaki a derisive look. "How proud your father must be."

 

A loud thud resounded. The woman raised a hand; one of her men had stomped the ground in anger at Takamura's words, but Misaki prevented him from doing anything. Takamura glanced up at the man: he was the one who sported the ghastly scar on his large, pale throat.

 

"Oh, what's this?" Takamura raised her own eyebrow. "Hiroki-san has a problem with what I said? Well then, by all means, come correct me. But I suggest you remember,' she said, her voice gaining an icy quality that gave Kyo shivers, "who gave you that scar in the first place."

 

It seems that the shiver wasn't only shared by Kyo; the big man, Hiroki, paled incredibly and took a step back. After hesitating a moment, he bowed deeply, his bald head dimly reflecting the light above.

 

_"Gomen nasai, Takamura-sama."_

 

"Don't let it happen again, Hiroki-san."

 

"Yes, Takamura-sama." He took his place behind Misaki once more. Misaki simply frowned in distaste.

 

"She is far superior to you, Hiroki, so you should have known better than to even think you could handle her. You are to show respect to your adversaries, Hiroki, no matter whether or not they deserve it. You know our organization's policy."

 

Hiroki said nothing. Kyo figured that he knew better than to speak out again.

 

Takamura gazed once more at her old colleague. "I suppose the old adage rings true. There seems to be honour among thieves, no matter how distorted." She paused before continuing. “Why are you here?"

 

Misaki smiled her polite little smile. "The kumicho wants to recruit your services. You know how valuable you are, Takamura-san, especially with the information you possess and skillset you created. Not to mention you are the granddaughter of the famed Shinto Priestess of Miyakojima, Observer of Okinawa. Her shamanic abilities were of legend, and it has been passed down to you. Your grandmother trained you in the arts of the itako. You were skillful to the point of mastering it, even while fully-sighted, a feat as rare as the sun rising in the west and setting in the east. None before you have had the level of prodigious ability to do so, and surely none after you shall either. Our kumicho, the boss, wants your abilities for the benefit for the organization. He sent me to deal with you, as we are old friends, and you'd be more willing to listen." She paused, removing her sunglasses, revealing brilliant cerulean eyes. Misaki looked directly in her old companion's onyx eyes, a silent plea resting in them. "What is your answer?"

 

Takamura gazed calmly at her contemporary, snapping her fan shut. Wordlessly, she pulled the kiseru from her hair, letting it tumble once more, and held the tip in her mouth while lighting it with her free hand. Putting the flame away, she inhaled deeply before exhaling, the room quickly filling with smoke. Only then did she answer.

 

"Really, Misaki-san, your boss must be one pig-headed fool. How many times has he sent his underlings to me, only to be rejected each time? Yet he still persists? In all my years under his command, I've yet to see his face even once. Why should I work for a man who won't even show his face? Cowardice, Misaki-san, is not something I stand for. Send the man to me himself, and perhaps I will consider his offer. Otherwise, be gone from this place and do not return. You're scaring the customers."

 

Misaki gave a scathing look at the customers, some of which had hastened to leave during their exchange. She turned to look at Takamura once more.

 

"I offer you this advice as a friend. Do not anger the kumicho. He has men everywhere, and where men cannot go, he has women. You would be wise not to upset him, Takamura-san, for I fear for your safety. You were a good friend, and even now I hold you in high respect. It's a pity that our lives were destined to lead like this. Even so, I can't help but feel I've made some bad choices. I know all about bad choices, Takamura-san, and your decision is one of them. Leave while you can."

 

Misaki rose, her men following her. She made it to the door, before turning back to stare directly at Kyo. "Be more careful, Kyo-kun," she stated, before disappearing onto the streets, her men behind her. The tavern burst into discussion once more, patrons visibly relieved that the gang was gone.

 

Kyo was surprised, wondering how she knew his name. He turned to Takamura, and was unnerved when he saw her eyes burning with a fury. "W-what's wrong, Takamura-san?"

Takamura's facial expression was grim, as she looked Kyo dead in the eye. "Misaki didn't come to threaten me. She came to warn me. The Yakuza have Hatsumomo."


	5. Yang 3: The Daughter of the Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takamura goes to visit an old friend.

_"Nani?!"_

 

Takamura nodded, her eyes narrowing as she thought quickly. "That seems to be the case."

 

The two of them had moved to the backroom behind the bar, in order to grant them privacy in case any of the patrons spoke English. Kyo was still thoroughly confused about what had just occurred, and unbelieving of Takamura's words.

 

"But…but how? She didn't make one mention of Hatsumomo! What're you talking about?"

 

The innkeep shook her head. "Misaki warned you to be careful. What should a member of the Japanese mafia care for a little boy? Especially one she never met?"

 

"How do you know she never met m--"

 

"It is the nature of my business to know, Kyo."

 

The boy gave her an inquisitive look. Takamura did have a way of knowing things. He used to think it was as she said, and that she simply became well-informed by the nature of those who gossiped over drinks at her tavern, but he had begun to suspect something else entirely -- after all, Misaki _had_ said that Takamura had once belonged to a crime syndicate...there was definitely more to this woman than just a simple barkeeper.

 

The itako raised the kiseru to her pink lips, brow furrowing in concentration. "But why?" she murmured. It seemed as though she were almost speaking to herself. "Why would the Yakuza show an interest in Hatsumomo? Do they think they can use her as a bargaining chip to secure my services?" Her nose wrinkled in distaste. "Cowards, the lot of them."

 

Kyo was still confused. "But how did you know they've got Hatsumomo?"

 

Takamura gazed at him, the depth of her onyx eyes seemingly limitless. "Do you not recall what Misaki told you before she left?’ _Be more careful, Kyo-kun,'_ she said. Have you forgotten who else said that to you?"

 

It dawned on him then. _Hatsumomo._ She said it when they first met. He'd been utterly inebriated at the time, but he did have the uncanny ability to recall most everything after such a mind-blurring state. Why didn't he see it earlier?

 

"But," Kyo began, "how could she know? How would she know what Hatsumomo told me the first time we met? She wasn't there!" He didn't bother asking how she knew that either. He already knew the answer.

 

"You forget," Takamura responded, "it is also the nature of her business to know as well."

 

Kyo frowned. She wasn't wrong. "So what're we going to do? We have to go back and get her!"

 

"Patience, Kyo," the innkeep said, "We’ve yet to even determine their objective. Haven't you been told that 'haste makes waste'? Rushing in without knowing the situation will only end badly for you."

 

He huffed. "We don't have _time_ to wait. The Yakuza have Hatsumomo, what more information do we need? Need I remind you that this is the Yakuza?!" Kyo pointed an accusatory finger towards Takamura, anger overtaking him. "You, better than anyone, should know what they are capable of doing!"

 

"And I do." The itako's eyes narrowed dangerously, throwing Kyo a look that chilled him to the bone despite himself. "I know better than you, which is why I also know that the Yakuza will not hurt Hatsumomo recklessly, cowards though they may be. ' _Vision without action is a daydream. Action without vision is a nightmare.'_ You'd do well to remember that, Kyo." The comely barkeep blew away smoke with a lazy wave of her Japanese hand-fan, the _sensu_. Her kiseru's smoke went out instantly, and she pulled it back up her sleeve as opposed to her usual place in her hair. "What troubles me, however, is the reasoning of why Hatsumomo was taken. No doubt they realize I care for her. But surely there's something more to thi--" Takamura's eyebrows rose in surprise, as a dark thought came to her. She mouthed something wordlessly, realizing the potential implications. "Could it be?"

 

_What's with her?_ "What's the matter?" Kyo didn't even know what was going on, but he had already formed bonds with Hatsumomo and Takamura. They were his friends. He couldn't leave them now.

 

Takamura's eyes flashed towards him, an appraising look. "It appears that you just may become a vital part in this."

 

"In what?"

 

Takamura snapped her fan shut, the resulting sharp sound taking Kyo by surprise. "Very well, then. It seems that it is beginning, so there is no reason to delay. Neither man nor woman can stop the wheel of fate once it has started turning. Come along, Kyo." Her kimono whirled about as she turned swiftly, heading back out into the bar. It was all Kyo could do to keep up with her brisk pace.

 

"Hayate-san," Takamura called out as she entered the bar room and headed for the door, "Keep an eye on the shop. I will be out for a while, so tend to the patrons. The bar must be kept open no matter what. You will have _his_ help as well."

 

A rather handsome boy of Kyo's age bowed, his perpetually-windswept raven hair shifting a bit as he did so. "Yes, Takamura-sama." Kyo noted that Hayate also spoke fluent English. Their eyes met and Hayate offered a friendly smile, one that Kyo hesitantly returned, before Hayate entered behind the bar-stand and awaited customers. As Kyo studied him, he seemed to be talking to himself. None of the customers were interacting with him, so Kyo wondered why he was talking?

 

" _Hayaku!"_ Takamura called as she disappeared from the door, and Kyo hurried after her, the banner flaps in the doorway proclaiming "Thank you for coming!" whipping about behind him.

 

Outside, bright sunlight blinded Kyo momentarily, causing the boy to raise a hand to his eyes. The streets were bustling with people, men and women and children; Kyo even spotted several tourists, some Caucasian, some African, some Hispanics. He assumed they were tourists, at least. He didn't see too many non-Japanese people for long in Tokyo.

 

Takamura's geta made sharp clacking noises against the concrete pavement, and Kyo chased after her. All around him were bright signs and billboards and large buildings, interspersed with large, criss-crossing streets and moderate traffic. The sky seemed to be a good one today, with white, fluffy clouds floating affably so high up above.  Kyo wondered how such a beautiful day could occur when something horrible had happened.

 

Takamura didn't seem too interested in the weather, however. She remained focused and determined, briskly heading towards her destination. The itako's dark hair cascaded out behind her, flowing softly in the soft breeze, her pink flower-depicted, white kimono, sleeves and all, billowing about her. The boy's own hair whipped about his head, his vision constantly disturbed by the hair in his field of vision.

 

"Where are we going?" Kyo asked over the wind, struggling to keep his vision clear.

 

"To see an old friend." Takamura answered without even turning back, and continued to head down busy street after busy street. "We'll be in need of his services."

 

"Do you know him very well?"

 

"Oh yes. He was an old friend of my father's."

 

Kyo kept quiet at that. He didn't know if he wanted to ask the next question. Takamura interpreted his silence correctly, and chuckled.

 

"Yes, he is part of the Yakuza. His task is to help fake deaths if and when such an event demands it. He also dealt with the dead bodies."

 

The boy cringed. He already didn't like the sound of this. He kept his opinion to himself, however. Takamura looked at him over her shoulder and smiled. She seemed to know it anyways.

 

Around a corner they went, and into a less-populated alleyway. There was a rusty door there, and what appeared to be an eye slot. The itako stopped abruptly, turning to face the boy who almost bumped into her. Takamura raised a single finger, her eyes fastened intently upon Kyo's.

 

"Listen closely, Kyo. We are about to enter Japanese mafia territory. You are not to make eye contact with anyone within, male or female, and do not answer any of their inquiries. Pay attention to what is said, but make no acknowledgement to what you've heard. You have no need for words now, only your ears. Stay behind me and silent, and no harm shall come to you. Disobey, and you may find your life endangered." Her eyes glittered darkly for a moment. "And it may not be just by their hands." Kyo felt uneasy; he knew Takamura would make good on her threats. He nodded.

 

"Good. Take note of what is, but do not ask questions. Should any trouble arise and I am unable to help you, return as quickly as you can to the inn. Hayate will help you from there."

 

"But what can happen? You make it sound like they're strong enough to beat you. You're the strongest woman I know!"

 

Takamura smiled slightly. "It is better to be cautious than it is to be sorry. I am not so big a fool as to consider every battle already won and every opponent already defeated." She pulled out her sensu fan and spread it open in one deft hand movement, raising it to her face; her nose and mouth were obscured from vision behind a lovely depiction of a soaring, feral dragon. "Any questions?"

 

"Yes, why do w--"

 

"You already forget. Had you been inside, you could already be dead now."

Kyo wondered what she meant, but then realized -- he had just been about to ask a question. He made a mental note to keep silent next time.

 

Takamura nodded in approval. "Let's go." Turning to the door, the innkeep knocked on the door in a particular manner, a pattern that Kyo did not recognize. The eye slot instantly opened, a pair of turquoise eyes staring out at her curiously. "And your business here would be...?"

 

The corner of Takamura's eyes crinkled as she smiled behind the sensu fan. "I'm disappointed you do not remember me, Sonic-san. Is that any way to greet a lady?"

 

The turquoise eyes widened in shock, and immediately the eye slot closed, the door opening moments later. A tall, blond young Caucasian man pushed the door open, stepping out into the alleyway. He looked to be in his early twenties. He was dressed in a fitted white dress shirt with a black waistcoat, black slacks and white leather dress shoes. His sleeves were rolled up, and Kyo could see "Sonic" and "Snowdrift" emblazoned upon the man's right and left forearms respectively. He had a pair of black sunglasses pushed up on his head, almost lost in his shock of straight, blond hair. He bowed deeply before Takamura. " _Gomen nasai,_ Lady Takamura. I meant no disrespect. I was unable to tell it was you from behind your elegantly-crafted fan. Please forgive me."

 

"I should hope it does not happen again, Sonic-san. I suspect our old friend Haruhiko-san is here as well?"

 

The man rose from his bow, nodded all the while. A friendly smile appeared on his face, genuine in nature. "He just so happens to be here, Lady Takamura. I'm sure you knew before asking, however."

 

"Yes, but it would have been impolite of me to not ask."

 

Sonic laughed. "Fair enough. Shall I escort you to him?"

 

"If you would be so kind."

 

"I would." His eyes skimmed over Kyo, but he said nothing, offering a small wink and a polite smile instead. The man turned on his heels, heading into the darkness of the corridor behind him. Takamura gracefully followed, leaving Kyo to close the door and quickly catch up with them. The corridors were rather wide, and lit by torches placed in sconces lining the path. Sonic removed one and lead them further down the path. Discussions could be heard behind closed doors, the sounds of rowdiness and angry shouts. Other rooms were quieter.

 

The path got darker, and fewer torches remained the further they went down the corridor. Sonic's torch burned with a fire so bright, it illuminated a large amount of the pathway around them. Ugly sculptures of creatures loomed above near the ceiling. Gargoyles and Gorgons, Wolves and Witches, Demons and Dragons. He even spotted some Oni, large demonic ogres, and felt a shiver of fear race through him. They all seemed so life-like, about to strike at any minute. All of the creatures were unsettling, especially the way their eyes twinkled, the result of being orbs fashioned out of obsidian. He was glad they were only statuesque sculptures.

 

Kyo realized that the only sounds were of their footsteps clacking against the ground. The silence aside from that unnerved him for some reason. Finally, a door loomed out ahead in the distance. On it, Kyo saw, a doorknob fashioned around a dragon head that jutted out from the door itself, its mouth open. Sonic stepped aside, his left hand presenting the titanium door before them.

 

"I'm sure you know what to do, Lady Takamura." Sonic announced with a smile. "You are far more proficient than I, so it would be fitting for you to do it. Any time you're ready."

 

The itako stepped forward, bringing forth her kiseru pipe from her kimono sleeve. Sonic stepped forward, setting the tip of his torch to the end of her kiseru, and a small flame disappeared into the smoking pipe before he stepped back. He looked to Kyo before speaking.

 

"I recommend you step back away from the door, if you value your safety." Kyo complied, falling in beside Sonic.

 

Takamura raised the kiseru to her lips and inhaled, revelling in the smoke. Swift as a coursing river, Takamura stepped forward and threw her hands back, fire bursting from her mouth spontaneously as a steady stream of flames flowed towards open brass dragon's mouth. She held the fire flow for a few seconds, before straightening up and exhaling a large amount of smoke from her nostrils. Kyo just stared on, a mixture of awe and shock on his face. _She just breathed flames. How can she do that..?_

 

Sonic beamed at her, pleased with her performance. "Ferocious as usual, Lady Takamura. I've yet to master that level of the technique, despite working here for several years. Perhaps one day."

 

"Practice makes perfect," the itako responded, before gesturing to the door. The dragon's eyes were now lit up in a brilliant shade of red, and smoke drifted lazily from the nostrils of the brazen creature. Sonic stepped forward, donning a pair of white gloves he pulled from his waistcoat's pockets, and grasped the dragon's large nose ring that acted as a knocker for the door. He tapped it against the door thrice, a reverberating, hollow sound filling the air as a result, before taking the nose ring in both hands and pulling on it.

 

Slowly, the door began to open, a large groan from the hinges renting the air as Sonic pulled. Within ten seconds, the door had been fully pulled open, and a bright light from within bathed them all. Kyo could hear footsteps and realized it was Sonic entering the room. Before he could regain his clear vision, he heard a new voice speak with a menacingly low gruff tone.

 

"Who dares disturb the Dragon of Death in his own quarters?"

 

Sonic looked unperturbed as he responded brightly. "Why, the Daughter of the Dragon herself."


	6. Yin 4: The Children of the Zodiac

Silence followed Sonic's proclamation. Kyo rubbed at his eyes, finally regaining his vision. Blinking, he gazed into the open chamber.

 

Kyo gasped.

 

Takamura instantly shot him a warning glare, but Kyo was too caught up in the magnificent view. The inside of the room was absolutely cavernous. Enormous pillars sculpted of solid white marble held up a large, crimson canopy upon which stood a flowing white marble dragon. The chamber was incredibly spacious, ornate Chinese carpets covering the expansive, white marble-tiled floor. Massive oil lanterns were placed in the four corners of the room, bathing the space in a brilliant, slightly flickering light. Black _zabuton_ sitting pillows were arranged artfully on the floor, beside a large, wooden table with a silken white cloth placed over it. Books were strewn on the table, some old and open, some new and closed.

 

Paintings adorned the walls, depictions of soaring, uninhibited dragons winding about the room. They were of different colours, red and green and blue and yellow and many more. Kyo noted that the white dragon statue above the crimson canopy sharply contrasted with the colourful dragons on the walls -- while the others seemed to be free and unrestricted, the white dragon appeared to be still and far more imposing than the others.

 

In the centre of the room, sitting cross-legged before the table, sat an elderly man, small in stature but fierce in his gaze. He peered at them over his glasses, wispy gray eyebrows arched in annoyance. He wore a matching pair of a kimono and a hakama for pants. He held a thick, leather-bound book before him, and seemed to have been in the middle of the book. A grimace tugged at the corners of his lips, nose twitching in displeasure at the intrusion. He snorted, but waved them in regardless, eyes fastened upon the elegant woman before him.

 

"The Daughter of the Dragon, is it? And what brings you to my humble abode, Takamura Matsumoto? What business does the famed Itako Empress have with me? The Dragon of Death is always busy, you know."

 

"The Dragon of Death will make time for the Daughter of the Dragon." Takamura's tone brook no arguments. "I wouldn't visit your 'humble abode' otherwise, Haruhiko-san."

 

The old man grimaced. "No, I don't suspect you would." He gestured to the zabuton pillows on the floor on either sides of the table. "Sit down."

 

The itako complied, gesturing to Kyo to follow before stepping forward gracefully and kneeling for but a moment before sitting upon her legs, her body turned to face the owner of the chamber. Her sensu fan still obscured her face, her other hand hidden beneath the sleeve. Kyo stayed quietly by her side, looking down at his clasped hands in his lap.

 

His presence did not escape Haruhiko's notice. "Who are you, boy?"

 

Kyo twitched, and opened his mouth to speak before Takamura's sensu fan covered his mouth in an instant, preventing him from making any sound. The itako gazed calmly towards Haruhiko, not even bothering to glance at the surprised Kyo. "He is my ward, and currently none of your concern. We have other matters to discuss."

 

Haruhiko gazed at her sternly before a small, almost bitter smile crept onto his face. "Another ward of yours, Takamura? Heh. You don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to wards, now do you? You know far better than I."

 

For the first time since Kyo knew her, he felt Takamura tense. He felt a slight aura emitting from her -- anger? There was something that could get Takamura angry?

 

The priestess ignored his jab, bringing the sensu fan back to her face. "You'd do well not to disturb a sleeping dragon, Haruhiko-san. You may find it rather unwise." Her eyes narrowed dangerously, brow furrowing in displeasure. "If you're quite done, I must discuss _that_ with you. I'm sure you recall what I am referring to."

 

Haruhiko's brow furrowed as well at the mention of the topic. "Why that, of all things? What good does it do to talk of possibilities?"

 

"Haruhiko-san, I consider you too smart to be this big a fool. It has been _ordained_. It was only a matter of when."

 

The old man harrumphed. "And the fact that you're bringing it up now..."

 

"...means that it has begun," Takamura finished for him. "Which brings me to you."

 

"What need do you have of an old man?" Haruhiko murmured, annoyed at being dragged into this. "I had hoped it would happen well past my time. How unlucky I must be."

 

"Yes, we all feel very sorry for you," the itako said dryly. "How unlucky indeed."

 

The sarcasm did not pass his notice. "Unluckiness aside, how do you know for certain?"

 

"Because the first step has already been taken. Hatsumomo has been taken by your Yakuza companions."

 

"I'm an old man," Haruhiko complained. "Remind me of how this prophecy went."

 

The itako didn't reply, instead pulling the kiseru from her kimono sleeve. Raising it to her lips, she inhaled, puffing momentarily, before exhaling a rather large cloud of smoke that lingered in the air. Before their eyes, the smoke began to take on shape, form, density. Within moments, an image was formed: a few 'smoke men' surrounded a single figure in the centre. The shadowy figure in the middle was undoubtedly female, Kyo could see. _Was that Hatsumomo?_

 

An ethereal voice began speaking in soft, almost singing tones.

 

" _With the theft of innocence shall evil stake its claim"_

 

The smoke melted together and reformed, now depicting a boy and a woman with skulls floating about her.

 

" _A hero shall rise, aided by a whisperer of death_ "

 

Again the scene changed, this time with several new people in addition to the two, seemingly fighting several opponents.

 

"T _hrough trials will he go, rising to fame_ "

 

The boy was with fewer members now, some having disappeared in a puff of smoke.

 

_"Though not without loss, those who heave their last breath"_

 

More shifting smoke, now people joining up the fight.

 

" _Good shall strengthen and answer the call_ "

 

More figures joined, except on the opposing side; the benevolent side seemed to be overwhelmed.

 

" _Evil, in turn, will display its might_ "

 

Companion turned upon companion, both on the benevolent and malevolent factions.

 

" _Flowing blood and betrayal shall be suffered by all_ "

 

The room itself seemed to darken somewhat, and the smoke figures turned a darker shade of gray.

 

" _The world shall fall into everlasting night"_

 

The smoke swirled together, reforming in the shape of a snake. It seemed to be shedding its skin, and out crawled a boy from the remnants of the snake skin.

 

" _From the serpent that sheds its bonds shall come a wise son"_

 

The smoke shaped itself into the form of an oxen, a young girl on its neck and grasping its horns.

 

" _And from the strong oxen shall a clever girl be birthed_ "

 

Now there were more than more than a dozen running together towards something.

 

" _Through the efforts of the twelve shall the destined deeds be done"_

 

The running stopped, now members within the group were pointing at each other, and some looked forlorn and others angry.

 

" _With assistance from those whose secrets shall be unearthed_ "

 

Coming together, and spreading apart, the smoke now took on the shape of twelve different homes. Outside each of the homes stood a child, and an adult.

 

" _Sheltered while raised by the companions of the dragon’s daughter"_

 

The adults disappeared, and the children matured, rising from a crouching position and walking towards each other.

 

" _Together as one must the children of the zodiac stand"_

 

The children all put their hands on top one another's in a pile as though making an oath.

 

" _With their combined strength shall they stop the slaughte_ r"

 

Two large, grotesque and severed hands appeared, along with miniscule words like _death, disaster, chaos,_ and _murder_ being tossed into the ground where they disappeared.

 

" _And undo the sins sowed by dead devil’s hands"._

 

The ethereal voice went quiet, though a slight echo could be heard in the enormous chamber. Takamura dispelled the remaining smoke with a simple wave of her sensu fan, the wisps quickly fading away from sight.

 

Haruhiko looked grumpier than ever. "A lot of death and disorder supposedly resulting from the kidnapping of a single girl. Are you sure that "loss of innocence" doesn't mean the girl just got fucked?"

 

Despite himself, Kyo felt a small smile form on his face. This man by be crass and crude, but he was also humorous. He was starting to like the Dragon of Death. The boy paused, mulling over what Takamura said. He didn't like the sound of this prophecy, not one bit. Who was the son born to the snake, and the daughter born to the oxen? Who was the twelve destined to stop things?

 

"I'm certain." Takamura didn't seem to share the humour. "As certain as the death destined to meet us all should the prophecy come to pass before the Children of the Zodiac can counteract it."

 

"Well then, we'd better damn well get on with it, don't you think? That still doesn't explain what this has to do with me."

 

"That's the best part." Takamura smiled. "The Dragon of Death is most invaluable to those who seek to stop the prophecy from ending horribly."

 

The old man's eyes narrowed. "How?"

 

"By joining me and gathering the Children of the Zodiac. As fond as you are of death and its secrets, Haruhiko-san, I very much doubt you wish to experience it yourself."

 

Haruhiko grunted. "Not yet. I may be getting on in years, but I've still got a lot of life left in me. They ought to name me the Dragon of Life, instead of that happy-go-lucky fellow." He gave a derisive look to the image of the green dragon on the wall.

 

"Unfortunately for you, that title is taken. I can assure you, however, that you will see your fair share of death should you come with me. At least deaths that don't include your own." She gave his abode a look over.

 

"Most everything is white, symbolizing the purity of death. Fitting."

 

"I got tired of dark and gloom being the main theme." He gave her an appraising look over his glasses. "You know full well the kumicho won't take too kindly to my defection, should I choose to do such. Not many men nor women can do as well as I can in this particular division of the Yakuza."

 

"Would you rather be covering up deaths for the cowardly mafia, or would you rather be putting your skills to good use and be more famous than your 'life partner'?" Haruhiko begrudgingly gave a small smile at her joke. "Really, Haruhiko-san," Takamura continued, "You invoked the Dragon's Dedication before the other Dragons and swore it by the Celestial Four. Your words are bound to the actions you promised, and the ultimate price for denial of you Dedication is death. Perhaps that would please you, a fitting end, don't you think?"

 

Haruhiko sighed. "I know. I simply hoped to prolong the conversation. It's not every day that a man has Takamura Matsumoto, the Daughter of the Dragon and the itako who is also known as the Whisperer of Death, come visit him." He gave her a knowing look. "It's not every day that I get to see the daughter of my beloved friend Hitoshi Matsumoto."

 

Takamura's face was impassive, but her tone was suddenly steely. "That man is dead. And he will stay that way."

 

The old man sighed. "You will have to forgive him one day, Takamura-san."

 

"Perhaps one day. Perhaps the day I die."

 

The Dragon of Death shook his head. "As you wish." Haruhiko heaved a sigh, before gesturing to the books around him.

 

"And all these books? Do you expect me to go on without them?"

 

Takamura snorted. "You have read every book in here thrice, Haruhiko-san. If you'd like, take only what you must. Traveling with a library upon one's back tends to not make one nimble."

 

Haruhiko considered that, before looking towards Sonic, who was standing to one side with a hand on his hip, listening to the conversation. "And what of you, Sonic? What do you plan to do?"

 

The blond man bowed. "I've been in your service for years, Haruhiko-sama. I expect to be in your service for many more."

 

Haruhiko smiled. "I am pleased to hear that. I also recall you have a photographic memory?"

 

Sonic nodded, straightening up. "An eidetic memory, yes. I've read all these books before. You needn't worry you'll forget something, Haruhiko-sama. I've got it all up here." He gestured to his head, tapping it lightly.

 

"Excellent, excellent," Haruhiko murmured. He caught and held Takamura's gaze. "I suppose you'll make up the loss of my cozy little abode?"

 

"In saké, if you'd like. I recall you're quite the drinker."

 

"Do I have a drinking buddy in you?"

 

"You just might."

 

Haruhiko chuckled. "Very well. I will come along and help you gather the Children of the Zodiac. Not that I ever had a choice." He gazed to the painting of the dragons soaring along the sky on the wall once more. "It's been quite some time since the Nine Dragons have been together, don't you think?"

 

Takamura reflected. "It's been 30 years, hasn't it? I was but a young woman then. Time flies as swiftly as the dragons do."

 

Kyo raised an eyebrow. _Takamura is older than 30?_ She looked no older than thirty-five, when he had first met her. The way she spoke, she made it seem as though she was at least...

 

"Fifty years, and not a day past thirty. How do you do it?" Haruhiko gazed curiously at his companion.

 

The itako waved her sensu fan dismissively. "Saké is liquefied beauty. It's how I justify my alcoholism."

 

Haruhiko roared with laughter, clutching his belly as the sound erupted from him. "Takamura, you always did have a sharp wit! How very like your father!"

 

Takamura said nothing, and Haruhiko slowed his laughter, regaining his composure. "Well, it's been decided. I'm onboard this train to hell. What's next?"

 

The itako's onyx eyes glittered with a dangerous look. "Next, we reign in the Dragon of Life."


	7. Yang 5: Snowflake Sorrows

The sound of constant thudding filled the room. She wasn't about to give up, she'd be _damned_ if she let them best her. It had been them, their fault; they were why she cried at night. She _hated_ them.

 

Hatsumomo's fists were sore, but she simply gritted her teeth and kept up the ferocious assault against the door. She had an inhibitor collar around her neck, one that prevented her from accessing her chi and doubled as an explosive; if she tried to remove it without the proper code, she would die. On top of that, even if she did somehow manage to remove it and survive, the room had been specially prepared with dry air – it lacked any water vapour that she could manipulate. Maybe she could extract whatever water lay from the white rose in her hair, but she wasn’t willing to destroy it in the process. Further still, she wasn’t fully recovered from her overexertion the day before against the malevolent Kuchisake-Onna – she doubted she could muster up much mizudo techniques regardless.

 

Hatsumomo continued to pound her bruising fist against the door. They only managed to get the drop on her because she had used up most of her chi against Kuchisake-Onna; otherwise, she would’ve been able to defend herself. Who did they think they were? What did she ever do to them? No, it had been them who had wronged _her,_ them who had ruined _her_ life. And now it seemed they came back to finish the job...

 

Tears streamed down her face as she rested her head against the door, hope slowly evaporating from her. No; these were people far more capable than her in the mystical arts. Whether or not she was exhausted, she never stood a chance against them. She sank to her knees, tears falling fast and hard, silent as ever. Hatsumomo felt useless. She had been useless then and useless now. Why couldn't she do anything? Always the damned damsel in distress, always in trouble, always unable to do anything about it. Why did this always happen to her?

 

She longed for her mother, for her father...for her sister. But they had taken them all away from her. Especially her sister, that was the worst of it. She may not gone, but she was emotionally and mentally. Their actions resulted in her distancing from Hatsumomo, the only one she had left.

 

' _Damn them all,'_ she thought bitterly, tears glistening on her petite face, ' _Damn them!'_

 

She slumped further onto the ground, lying on her side as she cried piteously. It was all she could do as unconsciousness gripped her...

 

***

 

Silent snowflakes fell from above, the sky shimmering with the precipitation. Hatsumomo smiled up at her mother, Mameha, holding onto her hand. The twelve-year old girl could barely contain the excitement bubbling within her. It was finally that time of the year: _Sapporo Yuki-matsuri,_ the Sapporo Snow Festival, had finally arrived. She'd been looking forward to it all year, and now it was finally here -- the joy she felt was indescribable.

 

Hatsumomo had a special connection with winter. She had been born during that season, early February, and the beauty of swirling snowflakes never ceased to amaze her. Her mother had once told her that each snowflake was different, unique, and beautiful in its own way -- "Just like you", her mother had said, poking her nose, before scooping her up for a tight hug. Hatsumomo had giggled, making sure to remember her mother's words.

 

The young girl looked to her left, and saw her father, Hideo, holding hands with her sixteen year-old older sister, Sayuri. The girl looked rather cheerful, chattering excitedly with her father. Seeing her family happy made Hatsumomo smile brightly. She liked winter and its cold winds even more because it meant people were closer together, warmed by the power of their love. Winter was a beautiful time.

 

Her parents both donned pure white kimonos, crimson obi sashes binding it to their bodies, as did the children. White was the colour of the Yamaguchi family, symbolizing the purity of their clan. The Yamaguchi were considered one of the most prestigious families in Sapporo, her father acquiring the title of "The Baron"; Hatsumomo and Sayuri were also referred to kindly as the ‘ _Snow Princesses of Sapporo_. _’_ The Yamaguchi family were respected and renowned for their kindness and honest words. Hatsumomo's father was gaining influence in the political scene of Japan, and would often attend banquets and ceremonies with other Japanese political figures. Her mother was often jokingly referred to as "Her Imperial Majesty" for being the dutiful wife and mother to Hideo and his children, with Hideo often being stylized by friends as "His Imperial Majesty". Hatsumomo was incredibly proud of both of her parents, as was Sayuri.

 

The snow continued to drift lazily all about them as they made their way to the pavilion, their wooden geta leaving prints in the snow. The entire family had long since mastered the shoes to the point they could walk without slipping, even in such compromising weather. Up ahead, Hatsumomo saw brilliant lights and large ice and snow sculptures. She tugged her mother's hand, Mameha smiling and turning to her husband.

 

"Anata, let us hurry." Turning a benevolent eye to her daughter, she smiled as she continued. "Hatsumomo wishes to see the geisha."

 

 _The geisha._ Yes, Hatsumomo wanted to see them. To her, they were the highlight of the entire event. Their pale, powdered faces...their white, silken kimonos...their flawless, elegant dancing...they were beautiful, almost ethereal. Supernatural beauties, silent and graceful, calm and benevolent. She also felt there was a thrilling, dangerous factor about them...behind their sensu fans and flowing kimonos, they seemed to be secretive. She admired that about them.

 

Soon, they caught up to the masses of people, watching the spectacle before them. Hatsumomo gasped -- the geisha were shuffling onto the stage, silent and graceful as ever. Instantly they sank into formation, forming a single line behind the geisha before them. Their sensu fans opened in unison, forming a rising and descending arc as the geisha fluttered their fans, their movements swift and fluid. They broke apart, dashing about the stage, twirling and flowing, never missing a beat.

 

Hatsumomo watched them with wonder. All of the geisha's actions and demeanour could be summarized in a single word: _elegant_.

 

She whirled to face her sister, grasping her hand in hers. "Sayuri, I want to become a geisha! Become one with me!"

 

Her sister hesitated for a moment, before yanking her hands out of her younger sister's grasp. "No, Hatsumomo. I have other plans, and plan to become something more useful than a silly geisha. Don't be stupid. And don't be selfish."

 

" _Sayuri."_ Hideo's voice was sharp, unflinching. " _Apologize to your sister._ "

 

The sixteen year old girl frowned, angry. She was always the one getting reprimanded, not sweet, precious little Hatsumomo. Reigning in her anger, she eyed her sister disdainfully before muttering an apology. That did nothing to lessen the hurt Hatsumomo was feeling at her sister's reprimand.

 

Mameha, sensing Hatsumomo was more hurt than she was letting on, knelt down before her youngest daughter. Looking her in the eye, she wiped the tears that had begun to fall down her child's cheeks. She gave Hatsumomo a small, bright smile.

 

"Listen to me, Hatsumomo. I know how much you love the ways of the geisha. If it is your wish to become one, then a geisha you shall be. I promise this to you, my daughter. Do not shed tears. Harsh words do not deserve them -- reserve your tears for moments of happiness, my child, not moments of sorrow. "

 

Hatsumomo sniffed, rubbing at her eye. She nodded, slowly stopping her tears. It was then she noticed. "Okaa-san, your favourite kimono." She pointed to the kimono, where her mother knelt in the snow and dirt. "It's ruined."

 

Mameha smiled. "What is a ruined kimono compared to happiness of my child? Family heirloom or not, you and your happiness are far more valuable, Hatsumomo. Of that, there is no doubt. Worry not, my child, for it is not the only heirloom of which I have in my possession." Pulling out a small box from within the folds of her kimono, she winked at her youngest daughter. “It is something I noticed near our own house. You recall the rose bed in our front garden?” Hatsumomo nodded as she sniffled, prompting her mother to continue.

 

“When autumn left, so too did the roses with it. However, day after day, without my noticing, there remained a single white rose which silently endured all that winter had to offer it. It was only today that I had realized it still remained where all others had been lost. Even if I did not manage to appreciate its beauty, the rose remained steadfast in its will to survive, its will to stand tall for all that it embodied: beauty, patience, quite strength, and above all, purity.”

 

Mameha lifted the rose head gently out of the box, lightly brushing her child’s hair as she placed it by Hatsumomo’s temple. Looking at her handiwork, her kind eyes crinkled at the corners slightly as she smiled her brightest one of all. “Look at you, my daughter, so beautiful, so pure. Whenever you feel doubt or seem to lose patience, remember how this very rose remained vigilant and endured something as formidable as winter, displaying its quiet strength for all to see, regardless of whether or not anyone chose to look. It, like the geisha, is of few words, for their actions speak far more eloquently than their words ever could.” Poking her daughter light-heartedly on the nose, she teased, “It just so happens that I may know a young little girl like this rose. Much like the rose, she is more beautiful than she knows. And stronger at that as well.”

 

Hatsumomo smiled tremulously, throwing her arms around her mother's neck, threatening to burst into tears again. Her mother picked her up, patting her gently on the back, whispering soothing words into her ear. Hatsumomo calmed down, but by the time she turned to watch the show again, the geisha were finishing up their act and swiftly gliding down the stage stairs and out of sight once more.

 

They stayed for a while, watching people sculpt and shape snow into statues. Her father was nearby, discussing something with a Chinese diplomat. She overheard the Chinese man mention "Yakuza", and her father's face darkened. His tone for the rest of the discussion was sharp, and Hatsumomo didn't need to hear the rest to know why.

 

Her father had a raging hatred for all things Yakuza. Should he have become successful in his bid to become the Prime Minister, he intended to issue a crackdown on the Yakuza, hell-bent on eradicating the gang. "They may have had noble intentions once," he had once said at a conference, "But they've long since devolved into common thugs and warlords, no longer the peace-brokers they once were. They've long since outlived their usefulness, and provide more harm than good. How can any citizen feel safe with such a treacherous gang roaming free? They shan't be around much longer if I had my way." Hatsumomo was looking at him, and she could see the angry passion in her father's eyes and speech. Her father enraged was a fearsome sight to behold.

 

Soon after, it was time to return home. Her mother held her hand once more, Sayuri refusing to hold her father's. She was still bristling over the slight he had dealt her earlier. Her father paid her no mind; he knew that she would get over it eventually, and that she always kept her anger much longer than others.

 

The Yamaguchi family made their way through the snow-obstructed path, following the fresh pair of footsteps that others had left behind. The path cut through the busy streets, turning onto an alleyway. They were halfway through the alley before an ominous bad feeling gripped Hatsumomo. She couldn't help but whimper. Tugging on her mother's kimono, she whispered, "Okaa-san..."

 

"I know, Hatsumomo," her mother murmured. Hideo glanced from the corner of his eye, grimacing. They were being followed. He subtly gestured for his family to continue on forwards, indicating them not to act as though they were alarmed. It would be disadvantageous for them to alert those that followed them that they were aware of their presence.

 

Onwards, the Yamaguchi family strode, calamity raging beneath a facade of calmness. Out of the corner of her eye, Hatsumomo saw her father discreetly give Sayuri an object. Mameha clasped Hatsumomo's hand tighter. Turning to Sayuri, she called, "Sayuri, you have a mark on your face. Come, let me wipe it off." Sayuri immediately understood and went over to her mother, who mimed the motion of wiping something off Sayuri's cheek; in actuality, she was taking the object and placing it within the inside of the chest folds of her kimono. She then clasped onto Sayuri's hand too, nonchalantly striding forward with her children.

 

Hideo gritted his teeth; it seemed they had no choice. He gestured to his family to run when he gave the signal. The night was loud from the streets and the bustling activity of nearby vendors, but Hatsumomo could still hear her own heart pounding in her chest. And the moment she focused on her heartbeat, her father whispered " _Ike! Go!"_

 

Her mother dashed forward, as did Sayuri, but Hatsumomo stumbled from the suddenness of the action. Thankfully, her mother's grip on her allowed her leverage with which to stabilize herself after a moment, running with her mother and sister. She concentrated on running, several seconds having passed, before looking back. She gasped.

 

Her father was still there.

 

" _Otou-san!"_

 

" _Ike!"_ Hideo shouted, facing the men head on. There were five of them, rather young men, barely out of their teens. A few carried guns, while one or two held swords. Hideo scoffed, bringing out a small blade, a tanto, from within the folds of his kimono. "Just a bunch of brats. You think you can defeat me at your age? You've got a long way to go."

 

The men sneered. One spoke up, saying, "You've got a problem with the Yakuza? You certainly don't seem fond of us, even though we've done nothing to you. Why the resentment, old man?"

 

Hideo glared at them. "You harmed my city, my country. You're nothing but a bunch of street rats and wanna-be warlords. I won't have you in my Sapporo. Not in my Japan."

 

The boy leered at him. "Gee, guess we've got no choice but to teach you a lesson you won't forget. Not that you won't be around to remember it, though. The kumicho wants you dead, so forgive me, old man. This is just business, nothing personal." He ran forward, his sword dragging on the ground, ripping it up as he approached.

 

"It's plenty personal." With that, Hideo sprinted forward as well, his sword slashing upwards at his target. Their swords met, barely grazing off each other, as they ran past each other. Blood splattered the ground, as a fresh wound burst open on the Yakuza thug. His thigh was slashed open, blood flowing freely in heavy rivulets. The boy gasped, lurching in pain as he sank to the ground, his leg in his iron grip as he tried to stop the bleeding.

 

The other young men saw how Hideo had made short work of their comrade. "Do not take him lightly!" Another shouted, pointing his gun at Hideo. "Do not underestimate him, or you'll end up like Katsumi there."

 

Hideo dashed forward, intent on attacking the new speaker. The men began to shoot bullets at him, and he angled his sword in respect to each pulling of the trigger, barely deflecting them as he quickly approached. One of the men aimed at Hideo's thigh, and pulled the trigger. A bullet sped from his gun, piercing the man through the leg. Hideo faltered for but a moment, gritting his teeth in pain, before continuing his attack. The sword came swinging down, relieving the man who shot him of his fingers in a splash of crimson blood. A howl erupted from the boy, blood spurting from where his now-liberated appendages once were.

 

Another quick stroke slashed through the shoulder of another, the man falling down before he could even bring his gun up. A fourth man tried to parry his thrust, barely managing to deflect it, but it slashed the left side of his torso. The man went down without a fight, grasping the wound where the blood stained his bright white shirt.

 

"You hurt my family," Hideo shouted at them as they fell, "Now I'll hurt you."

 

It was now one-on-one. The large young man glared at him, speaking bluntly to Hideo. "Your family?" he questioned. "What have we done to your family? They are running away as we speak. Your family has yet to be harmed. In truth, it is you we want. I fail to understand how we've harmed your family."

 

Hideo scoffed again. "You fail to understand much." He pointed his sword threateningly at the man. "Japan is my family."

 

Hideo dashed forward, surprisingly quick for his age, closing the distance between them. He raised his sword, about to slash it downwards and cleave his opponent in two, but the man calmly raised his gun with alarming speed and pulled the trigger, letting a bullet fly. Hideo had just enough time to widen his eyes in surprise before the bullet took him in the center of his forehead, between his eyes. He uttered a moan before sinking to his knees, dropping down to the floor. He slumped over, lying on his stomach as blood pooled around his head.

 

The man gazed at him passively. "Then let Japan pay your funeral costs."

 

Hatsumomo saw it all as she turned to run. The altercation had lasted a few minutes. No...it wasn't an altercation. It was a slaughter, mostly by her father's hand, though he was a casualty too. Tears streamed down her face, cries wrenched from her as she ran with her mother and sister. Mameha was frowning, eyebrows furrowed in distress and sorrow. She knew that the moment Hideo signalled them to leave, she would never see him again. Sayuri was oddly silent, lacking any emotion.

 

Mameha interrupted Hatsumomo's sobbing. "Hatsumomo, Sayuri. Listen to me. Your father has made a noble sacrifice. He did it to protect Sapporo. To protect Japan." Her hands tightened momentarily, a reassuring action. "And he did it especially for you. Never forget that. Never forget what kind of man your father was." Hatsumomo nodded, tears obstructing her vision. Sayuri made no response.  "Do not let his legacy die."

 

"A legacy isn't so hard to kill."

 

The voice caught them off-guard. Mameha stopped them all -- the man that had slain her husband stood before them, nonchalant as he blocked their path. She took a step back, still grasping her children’s' hands, but the man raised the gun, saying, "Don't bother. You can't run faster than this bullet can fly."

 

Mameha knew his words to be true. Her grip on her children’s' hands tightened, fear for their safety coursing through her. She ushered them behind her, her arms spread out as she protected her children.

 

"Tell me," Mameha said, her voice unquivering. "Tell me the name of my husband's murderer."

 

The man smiled and bowed. "I would have the honour of killing Yamaguchi Hideo. My name is Hiroki."

 

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, anger tainting her tone. "What do you gain from this? How does killing my husband and children and myself help you in any way at all?"

 

The man appraised her, gun still poised at her chest. "It sends a message," he admitted. "There is a saying: _Deru kugi wa utareru._ The nail that sticks out gets hammered down. Those who speak out against the Yakuza, like a nail, shall get struck down."

 

Mameha tensed. "You murdered my husband, seek to murder me, and will take my children's lives because my husband _spoke out against you?_ " She shook her head. "Surely your organization is that of the devil's."

 

"Even devils can have their use, Mameha-san."

 

"Perhaps yours will be to die." Quick as a whip, Mameha pulled out the object from the inside chest folds of her kimono. Hatsumomo gasped -- it turned out to be a gun. _So that's what Otou-san gave to Sayuri to give to Okaa-san._ No sooner had she pulled it out and let fly a bullet had a bullet been fired in return. The bullet she shot sped through the air, making contact with the man's ear. The appendage exploded, blood spurting out from the wound. Hatsumomo gasped at her mother's work, never having known her mother was well-versed in guns. She turned to look at her mother...and screamed.

 

Blood was seeping through the midsection of her pure white kimono. A large red stain crept across the surface of the kimono, growing in size. The blood from the shot had also splattered onto the snowy, pure white ground around them. The rose in Hatsumomo’s hair was also drenched in her mother’s blood, a disbelieving look on Hatsumomo’s face – she couldn’t comprehend what was happening, the shock having stunned her. Mameha said nothing, just a look of sorrow on her face.

 

"Gomen...nasai...Hatsumomo...Sayuri..."

 

She sank to her knees, clutching at the wound as the blood stain grew ever larger. Hatsumomo's hands flew up to her mouth, tears streaming down her face harder than ever, stifling sobs that racked throughout her body. " _Okaa-san"_ , she whispered, unbelieving of what she saw. " _Okaa-san."_

 

The man looked down at Mameha with almost distaste. "Dying piteously on the ground, just as your husband did minutes before you. What a pitiful sight this is, the once respected Yamaguchi family lying on the ground, helpless." He grunted. "Utterly pitiful."

 

A second shot rang out, Mameha's last act of defiance. Blood exploded out of Hiroki's right foot, his shoes burst open. The man grunted in pain, but said no words. He aimed the gun at her heart, before pausing. "Any last words you'd like to share with your children?"

 

Mameha's weak rasp was barely discernible, but the man heard it all the same. "I love you, my children." Weakly turning her head to Hiroki, she gasped at him. " _Jigoku-e ike. Go to hell_."

 

The man smiled a rueful smile. "I'll see you there." He pulled the trigger, a bullet piercing Mameha's heart. The woman died instantly, her blood painting a gruesome picture on the pure white snow once more.

 

Hatsumomo was convulsing with the sobs that racked her body. She couldn't control it anymore, running to her mother's side and sobbing over her body. The man Hiroki glanced at her, raising a gun to the child before him. "I've no orders to kill you. However, you are part of the Yamaguchi family, and that alone is merit enough to be killed by the Yakuza." He lowered the gun, glaring at her contemptuously. "But you are not even worth the kill."

 

Hatsumomo barely heard him. She was sobbing over the corpse of her mother, the mother who had be so very joyous and alive only hours ago...

 

Sayuri looked frozen. She didn't know how to react. The man caught sight of her, approaching her menacingly. "What did your mother say?" He grasped her face, looking her in the eye as she glared piteously through her tears at him. He smiled. "I recall she said there were some marks on your face. I see nothing." He pulled a switchblade from his back pocket, watching Sayuri's eyes widen in terror as she realized what he intended to do. "But perhaps I can provide some for you."

 

Sayuri's screaming filled the air of the alleyway, mingling with Hatsumomo's sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	8. Yin 6: The Five Celestial Beasts

Li Bailong frowned, lowering his wand. The boy just wanted to successfully perform a magic trick for once. Was that too much to ask?

 

His eyes wandered back to the page of the book he was reading, _The Mystics of Magic_. The thick volume was opened up to page three hundred and ninety-four, elaborate writing explaining the steps required to wield ancient magic. Lavish drawings accompanied the text, illustrations of the intended effects and results of casting the spells. All other attempts at spells had failed, so he just kept flipping through the book, looking for something possible.

 

The boy sighed. "It's no use. It never is." He threw his wand into the corner of the room, frustrated at his failures. This was just another one on top of it all. Li Bailong wasn't surprised at his failure; rather, he was surprised at why he was still so disappointed when he fully expected such an outcome.

 

He gave one lingering look at _The Mystics of Magic_ before averting his gaze. His failure was staring at him right in the face, sitting there wide open, and it upset him. Storming over, he snapped the book shut before hurling it at the wall as well. It had been a present, one given to him by his maternal grandmother, but as much as he valued it, it was too frustrating to look at. He left the room in a hurry, leaving the house without a second glance.

 

Li Bailong rushed down the street, his slip-on shoes slapping loudly against the ground. Onwards he raced, straight down the street, winding around corners here and there, weaving in and out of alleyways and the street. He paid no mind to his surroundings, solely his destination. Finally he came upon it: _Zhao Feng’s Novelty Shop_. He came here often, perusing the books and rare items he was prone to finding. Entering the shop, the bell above the door chimed, and a pair of amused eyes looked up at the new arrival.

 

The man at the counter smiled. "Well, if it isn't my most loyal customer. What brings you here, Li?"

 

"Li _Bailong_ ," the boy insisted. He disliked when people didn't call him by his proper name. "And I'm here to learn."

 

The counter man appraised him with an approving eye. "Most of your generation cares not to learn new things."

 

The boy prickled at being compared to his peers, despite it being a compliment. "I'm not most of my generation."

 

The man gave him a small smile, his white beard crinkling with the movement. "No," he allowed, "You're not. This way." He turned from the counter, turning into the backroom. Li Bailong scurried under the door that prevented people from going behind the counter, following him in.

 

The backroom was sumptuously furnished and generously lit, revealing walls lined with bookcases filled to the brim with books. Also in the room were numerous antiques and dated artifacts, sculptures and paintings hanging from the walls as well. The boy sat himself down upon a particularly plump crimson satin cushion, and looked towards the man expectantly. He was not disappointed when the man swooped down, his _tangzhuang_ kung fu uniform ruffling, sitting on the chair opposite him.

 

"What would you like to learn about today?"

 

"Anything," Li Bailong responded. "You always tell the best stories."

 

The bearded man smiled faintly. "Stories would imply they are not true, child. There is more to this world than meets the eye."

 

Li Bailong huffed. "I hope there's more to this tale too."

 

His patron chuckled. "Clever boy. Very well, let us begin. This is an ancient tale, entrenched in the beginning of time itself." To Li Bailong, the man's gaze seemed to become distant, reminiscent. His voice almost sounded...wistful.

 

"Long ago, there was nothing. The entirety of the universe was in the form of a void, exempt of life and creation. The void was simple, unbridled chaos: the predominant force in all of existence. From the chaos came forth an egg. A giant, P'an Ku, resided within, hatching and breaking apart the egg that contained him. The egg shell broke into two pieces, light and darkness escaping as well. The darker, heavier pieces fell, creating the Earth, while the brighter, lighter fragments floated up and formed the heavens. P'an Ku, with fear in his heart, dedicated himself to keeping a balance between the sky and ground, vowing to keep them apart until he was sure the chaos would not return.

 

"Centuries and millennia passed before P'an Ku felt his duty had been completed. In his exhaustion, he sunk down to the Earth, where he died shortly thereafter. His breath became the winds and clouds, his body and limbs forming the mountains and hills, his blood flowing like rivers and oceans. His hair became plants and vegetation, while his teeth embedded themselves within the earth, becoming precious jewels. Through his sacrifice, P'an Ku brought about order from chaos, and brought forth the foundation of all subsequent life."

 

Li Bailong's eyes widened as he listened to the tale. "Wow, P'an Ku must've been very strong to hold apart the heavens and the earth. What happens next, Mr. Zhao Feng?"

 

Zhao Feng stroked his beard tenderly, his eyes still crinkled with the influence of his recollection. "Some time after, a being from the heavens came down to earth to see what remained of P'an Ku, his sacrificial legacy. This creature was the Dragon Goddess Nu-Kua, a beautiful goddess with the upper half of a woman and the lower body of a dragon. She traveled the earth, marvelling at its many beauties, all the while lamenting the fact that there was no one there to appreciate it. As such, the goddess decided to create humans, with the intention of not having P'an Ku's sacrifice be in vain. The dragon-goddess scooped up clay, tenderly fashioning human beings out of the earthy substance. Countless men and women were made, but ultimately, they were all inanimate. The celestial being reached out with her heart, expelling her divine breath into her creations, inspiring them with words of love and creation, driving them to populate the Earth and recreate on their own, furthering their species.

 

"The Dragon-Goddess also taught them in the passionate arts, enabling the humans to learn and become proficient in fields such as irrigation and agriculture. It is also said that her consort, a half-man, half-dragon creature called Fu Xi, is responsible for teaching humanity how to hunt, fish, and tend to flocks of animals. He is also accredited with the invention of music, which I'm sure you are greatly appreciative for." Zhao Feng nodded towards Li Bailong, whose hands instinctively went to his perpetually-worn headphones, almost protectively. The old man laughed, which served to somewhat embarrass Li Bailong.

 

"As nice as that was, Mr. Zhao Feng, that story doesn't seem as interesting as it could be. Isn't there any fighting?"

 

"I've already told you, Li Bailong. 'Story' would imply it's not true."

 

Li Bailong rolled his eyes, but said nothing. The elderly man went on.

 

"And you're quite right." Zhao Feng's eyes suddenly seemed to sparkle mysteriously, and he gazed directly into Li Bailong's eyes as he spoke. "All tales have a conflict; otherwise there would be no tale. This one is no different."

 

"Well then, what is it?" Li Bailong eagerly asked, perking up in his seat. Zhao Feng resumed his narration, his voice taking on a solemn tone; this was getting exciting, Li Bailong knew.

 

"Peace has an odd habit of never being eternal. There existed generals under Nu-Kua's command, those who did not agree with her philosophies. Some perceived her to be weak, for having such creatures as humans wandering the earth. Whatever their reasoning, several generals went rogue, becoming traitorous rebels who sought to destroy what she had created.

 

"The generals thought it would be appropriate to turn Nu-Kua's creations against her. With the help of demonic beings, of fire and water variations, they managed to manipulate the humans into helping them destroy the world. Nu-Kua, refusing to have the earth, P'an Ku's legacy, be destroyed, waged war against the traitorous generals, demons, and humans. With the help of gigantic warriors, she managed to make her campaign a success. However, her victory came at a price: one of the giants partially destroyed the heavens by an accident, when he upset one of its pillars. This resulted in a devastating flood that covered a great portion of the earth. The Dragon-Goddess managed to resolve this problem by stemming the rising waters through use of charred reeds, and rebuilt the broken pillar.

 

"Afterwards, in order to prevent such an occurrence from happening again, Nu-Kua created The Guardians of the Four Quarters, also known as The Four Symbols. The Dragon-Goddess placed the Black Tortoise in the north, and gave it control over winter; the Azure Dragon in the east, with control over spring; the White Tiger in the west, with control over autumn; and the Vermillion Bird, in the south with control over summer. There was one more, lesser known creation, the Yellow Dragon, who was tasked to protect the 'centre'. With these five guardians, the world became balanced and experienced a long era of peace. It is said that the Five Legendary Beasts continue to reside in their respective domains, protecting the world from ruin."

 

Li Bailong sighed dreamily, his imagination going into overdrive with the tale he had been told. "That was an awesome story, Mr. Zhao Feng." The boy caught himself after he received a piercing look from the elderly man. " _Tale_ , I mean. What ever happened to the Dragon-Empress, Nu-Kua?"

 

The old man shrugged. "Why do you assume anything happened to her? She is the Dragon-Empress, is she not? When her own generals turned against her, she crushed them for the good of all. Nu-Kua does not like violence, instead appreciating beauty, but she does what must be done. And it is usually her doing the doing, not anything being done to her."

 

Li Bailong raised an eyebrow. _What is he even saying?_ "Anyways, you seem to know a lot about the Five Legendary Beasts. How do you know so much?"

 

"I make it my business to know. With age comes wisdom. With mistakes come lessons. I just happen to have been around for a really long time." He paused, a quizzical smile on his wrinkled face. "I know the Five Legendary Beasts quite well, yes. Underappreciated as they are, someone has to know about them."

 

"I want to know more about them. What kind of powers did they have?"

 

Zhao Feng stroked his beard slowly in thought. "As each of the Five Legendary Beasts were associated with a direction and season, so too were they associated with an element. For the Black Tortoise, the element of water: supple, adaptable, fluid, and flexible. It also represents longevity and wisdom. You may think that a sturdy tortoise, slow and steady as it may be, would be incompatible with such traits, and that water is weak." He winked at Li Bailong. "You'd be wrong. It would be wise to note that water, when in an abundance, can overwhelm even the land. Not only can water float a boat, it can also sink it."

 

"Go on, what else??"

 

"For the Azure Dragon, the element of wood. Warmth, generosity, cooperative, strong, authority. Do not take the Azure Dragon lightly. As quickly as he would help a friend, he will strike down an enemy. His warmth is only superseded by his fire. It also is associated with the beginning of life, buds, and naturally, springtime. The Azure Dragon is as strong as he is generous."

 

"What about the White Tiger?"

 

"The White Tiger is associated with the element of metal. Firmness, rigidity, determination, persistence, strength, protection. The White Tiger is controlling and ambitious, as well as self-reliant. Just like metal can conduct electricity, so too can the White Tiger have strong impulses and influence, generating and bringing about changes between anyone who comes into contact with him. He is quite the charismatic creature."

 

"The Vermillion Bird?"

 

"Ah, the Vermillion Bird, sometimes referred to as the Phoenix. For her, the elemental association is fire. Extreme luck, dynamism, strength, enthusiasm, creativity. However, the Vermillion Bird may be easily provoked, and her impatience and restlessness can bring about aggressive behaviour. Just as fire provides warmth and is nurturing, so too can it burn when in excess. The Vermillion Bird is passionate and full of life."

 

Li Bailong hesitated, before asking. "And...The Yellow Dragon?"

 

Zhao Feng smiled. "You did not forget him, as so many often do. The Yellow Dragon is associated with the element of earth. A perfect balance of Yin and Yang, the feminine and masculine, patient, thoughtful, hard-working, stable, nurturing. The Yellow Dragon protects the centre, not associated with any of the outer directions, emphasizing its harmonious neutrality. Conversely, due to its stability and sturdiness, the Yellow Dragon can also be viewed as stubborn and uncompromising."

 

The boy sat in silence as he thought over Zhao Feng's words. The man was quite wise and knowledgeable, Li Bailong thought. He always told him stories, but never such a fantastic and imaginative one. He smiled, fantasizing about the celestial beasts. He blinked, snapping out of his thoughts as he looked up at the shop owner. "What else? There's more, right? It's really interesting."

 

Zhao Feng's mouth curled into a small smile yet again. "Yes, child, there is. But there is a time and place for everything, and here and now is neither of those." He rose, gesturing to Li Bailong to follow him, before he swept out of the room back to the counter in the front of the store. The boy followed him, pushing aside the threaded beads that separated the rooms.

 

As he made his way to the front of the storeroom, Li Bailong saw his older brother, Li Shaoming, standing there with a pleasant smile on his face. "Oh, there you are, Bailong! I was wondering where you got off to."

 

Li Bailong froze. His brother was here. And that smile was as fake as the jade figurines of the Chinese zodiac their mother possessed.

 

Li Shaoming went on cheerfully, not missing the look of shock on Li Bailong's face when he saw him. "Last I heard, a thud came from your room so I came to investigate. Your book was lying in the corner with your wand. _The Mystics of Magic_ , was it? I took it away, since you obviously haven't learned to take better care of your things! Don't worry, it's safe, it's perfectly alright. All five volumes are perfectly fine."

 

Li Bailong felt a horrible chill over him. There were no other volumes of that book. Which meant...Li Shaoming ripped it into pieces. How he had managed to do so to such a thick book, Li Bailong didn't care to question. He just knew his brother did that to hurt him.

 

Li Shaoming smiled wider. "Dear brother, you look pale. Come along, we'd better hurry home and look after you. You tend to get lost while wandering and have a knack for finding trouble." His eyes cut to Zhao Feng for a moment before turning back onto Li Bailong with his see-through cheery smile. "Come now, little brother, we mustn’t worry mother."

 

He forcefully grabbed Li Bailong around the wrist, dragging him by his left hand. He yanked, resulting in his younger brother tumbling, before chuckling. "Silly little brother. You've always been so clumsy. Come along, we haven't got time." He turned back to Zhao Feng, giving his smile again. "I'm sorry that my brother interrupted your store operations. He won't be coming back again."

 

Terror gripped Li Bailong, and he fought to wrench himself free, shouting "No!" This only resulted in Li Shaoming gripping his wrist in a bruising grasp, yanking him up to his feet. "Yes, little brother. You can't be left on your own."

 

Zhao Feng said nothing to him, watching Li Shaoming with knowing eyes. "I suspect I'll see you again, Li Bailong. Until then, educate yourself." He gestured to a book on the table near the door, a leather-bound heavy set black book. The title was written in a fancy script, reading _Magical Myths: Chinese Creatures_. Li Bailong managed to grasp it in his right hand when Li Shaoming was distracted by Zhao Feng's words.

 

The elder brother dropped all pretenses when Zhao Feng said he would see Li Bailong again. "I wouldn't count on it. He is now forbidden from entering this store. Let us go." He tugged on Li Bailong's wrist once more, disappearing from the store with his unwilling younger brother in tow.

 

The elderly Zhao Feng stroked his beard, almost in a bemused manner. "I will be seeing you soon enough, Li Bailong. Sooner than you expect, and much sooner than your brother does at that."


	9. Yang 7: Deadly Nightshade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter tackles heavy subject matter and is not for the light of heart.

"Another round for everyone! It's on me!"

 

The bar in Sicily erupted with cheers, as festive and lively as ever. All the patrons cheered in unison, and the Puerto Rican man grinned genially, waving his tankard of ale in the air. He loved moments like this, with everyone happy, care-free, enjoying themselves. ' _These are the moments that make life worth living,'_ he thought, eyeing everyone's expression -- especially the pretty lady in the corner booth. Ay mami, this woman was smokin' hot, and he had only seen her back. And by back, he meant behind.

 

The man gestured to the handsome young bartender, his friend who had invited him here with the promise of free drinks when he blew into town, leaning on his elbow while he continued to look at the woman. "Hey, Loki, who is she? The lovely honey in the red one-piece dress?"

 

Loki's green eyes followed the gaze of the man, an amused smile appearing on his youthful face. "Ah, I see you've got your eye on the resident man-eater." He chuckled. "It's fitting you referred to her as a "honey". Her name's Deborah, which means "honey bee." She's more likely to sting you than let you taste her sweet 'honey', if that's what you're thinking." The man cast a look at Loki; was that a wistful tone he heard?

 

"She shot you down, I'm guessing?" Loki instantly blushed, spluttering about for words with which to deny it. The man smiled. It seemed that Loki had feelings for Deborah, but she had rejected him, so...

 

"Alrighty then! I'm going to go try my luck at the jackpot. Watch and learn." And with that, he was off, sauntering towards the seductive woman.

 

He slid into the booth, a charming smile at the ready. She didn't acknowledge him. Already that put a frown on his face; he made the effort to come all the way over here. Couldn't she at least acknowledge his presence? He decided to go for it anyways.

 

"Hola, mamacita. What're you doing here all by yourself, alone on such a fine night?"

 

She calmly took a sip of her drink, ignoring his existence altogether. That vexed him even more. He was trying to make polite conversation. _What is up with this bitch?_ He wasn't about to give up, though.

 

"Where's your man?"

 

Her amber eyes turned on him quickly, hostile and intimidating. Immediately, the man felt he had crossed a barrier he shouldn't have. Her luscious, blood-red lips opened to speak, but the man found himself more interested in her eyes. That certainly wasn't usual for him.

 

"And just why do I have to have a man? Is the concept of a woman coming here of her own free will, on her own, alien to you? No doubt you think that I should have a man with me at all times."

 

He wrenched his eyes from her gaze, sizing her up. Ample breasts, slender and curvaceous figure, flowing dark hair. Her hair fell in slightly wavy tresses, framing her slender, smooth face. Heavy-lidded amber eyes glared at him; they did not miss his eager inspection of her body, as though she were a piece of meat to buy.

 

He looked back at her, a toothy grin on his face. "Because someone like you is too pretty to be alone. Someone might take advantage of you." He reached his hand out to take her’s on the table. A thud stopped his fingers mid-stretch, though.

 

A knife was implanted in the table, right between his index and middle fingers.

The man looked down, stunned, before looking up at her again, grinning toothily once more. "Feisty. I like that."

 

"Would you like a trip to the hospital? Leave me be, male."

 

He quirked an eyebrow. Male? Was that all he was to her, just another man trying to get in her pants? He crinkled his nose. It was true, he figured, but she didn't know that. He was starting to get annoyed at her lack of courtesy.

 

"What's your name, little mama? C'mon, at least tell me that."

 

"You already know my name."

 

"How do you know?"

 

"You're not exactly quiet about your attempted conquests. You and Loud-Mouthed Loki were rather loud."

 

He frowned. This woman was being uncooperative. What did a guy have to do to get a beautiful lady to come home with him? An idea dawned on him. Smirking, he leaned forward, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Hey, how about I buy you a drink, mamacita? C'mon, let Papi here get you something."

 

She gave him a murderous glare, before pulling out a picture of a rather handsome man. "You want to get me something? Get me this man."

 

He eyed the picture. The man was certainly a looker, though he had nothing on himself. "Sorry, can't get you a man I've never seen before. Who is he, your lover?"

 

She ignored him. He tried again. "C'mon, mami, anything else I can get you?"

 

Her eyes widened suddenly, bright with animated pleasure. "Sure!  How about you get me a pistol?" She put the picture back in her bra, hidden from sight. Her expression went back to its usual indifference, and the man was seriously starting to get angry. She was treating him like a damn fool, and all he wanted was to sleep with her. Was that so much to ask?

 

"Look," he began angrily, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "You've been nothing but rude since I got here. What's your deal?"

 

"My deal," Deborah began, her eyes narrowing dangerously as her tone became cold as steel, "is that I have an incompetent and womanizing imbecile trying to pick me up as though he's entitled to me simply because he was born with a pathetic excuse for a penis. I _don't want_ you to talk to me. I _don't want_ your drink. And I certainly _don't want_ the worm you're packing in your pants. Leave my table or leave the club, it makes no matter to me. Just _leave."_

 

He was taken aback. Why was she being so hostile for? When he collected himself, he rose, anger flashing in his eyes. "It is _not_ a worm!" he exclaimed before storming back to the bar. He caught Loki looking at her as he left, but he quickly averted his gaze. A moment later, he looked back slyly at the man.

 

"So that's how it's done, huh?"

 

The man bristled. "Shut up." This woman got him worked up in knots. Who was she to talk to him like that? Yet, despite himself, he still wanted her. She was a challenge to him, an incredibly hard one. And, if he were honest with himself, it left him incredibly hard at the prospect. She was fascinating to him. And beautiful. What made her so bitter to men, though?

 

"I told you," Loki said, smiling to himself a bit. "Her lips may drip honey, but she stings like a bee."

 

The man ignored him. "What's the deal with her, anyways?" he asked, gazing at her over his shoulder. He knew she noticed, but she didn't give any indication she did. "What made her like that?"

 

"Men."

 

The man quirked an eyebrow. "Men? What do you mean? Some douchebag fucked her up, emotionally? Is that what happened?"

 

Loki sighed. "Two douchebags, actually. They just so happened to be her father and older brother."

 

Surprise seized him. "Wha--? Her old man and brother?" It was then he realized that perhaps his use of the word 'Papi' had angered her more than he had realized. "How? When? Why?"

 

The boy bartender wiped out a glass, looking at the subject of their talk. "Years ago. Deborah's mother died while she was still young. Deborah was only five. She went crying to her father a lot, and the grief hit him hard. He lost the woman he loved, whom his daughter was a spitting image of. No doubt he thought to comfort himself by immersing himself in his dead wife's ringer of a daughter. Literally. He molested her on a constant basis, and she was powerless to stop him. The man she needed to trust the most, especially when such a tragic event happened, instead sexually abused her. Her brother was no better."

 

He was starting to feel ill. "What did the brother do?"

 

"He was the one she ran to when their dad wasn't home, he was the one who wiped away her tears and patted her back while she sobbed herself to sleep. He would always make her drink some milk before taking her to sleep. She would sleep heavily and dreamlessly."

 

"It sounds like he was actually caring for her..." The man tried to figure out where this would go wrong.

 

"I wasn't finished. Each morning, Deborah would wake up sore. She'd complain to her brother, thinking something was wrong with the milk, but he waved her off, saying she was simply sleeping incorrectly on the bed. She believed him at first."

 

"At first?"

 

"At least until she started bleeding from her lady bits."

 

Things didn't add up. Didn't Loki say she had only been five? She was way too young to get her period. Loki had also said she slept heavily and dreamlessly. Which would mean...

 

His eyes shot open. Loki nodded. "I see you put two and two together. Her brother had her molested every night."

 

"What do you mean 'had her molested'? You don't mean to suggest that he had other people sexually abuse his sister with his consent?"

 

"That's exactly what I mean to suggest. Her brother saw no value to his sister after their mother passed away and she was raped by her father. As far as he was concerned, she was a whore, so why not make money off of her? And thus, under the pretext of comforting her, he drugged her every night and charged money for pedophiles to fuck his five-year-old sister."

 

"When did she realize?"

 

"Deborah wasn't your average five year old girl. She was--er--is rather clever. The pain? The dreamless sleep? The bleeding? She figured out as soon as she saw the blood that it wasn't the bed's doing. She was smart enough not to confront him, however. She had something else in mind for her brother and father. Not to mention all the people who had stolen her innocence."

 

He held his hand out, and Loki pushed the drink he'd been pouring towards him. "So what'd she do?"

 

"Nothing, for a time. Deborah had a friend, Bella, whose mother was a florist. Her mother collected and tended to all sorts of plants, but she was especially fond of dangerous and exotic flowers. Among these flowers, you see, just so happened to be _Atropa belladonna."_

 

He saw where this was going. "Deadly Nightshade."

 

"Precisely. Deborah detailed her plight to Bella's mother, Sophia Virtus, who was considered a champion of women. She believes strongly in the empowerment of women, and has been lobbying for better health, educational, and employment opportunities for women in all fields. Sophia was sympathetic towards Deborah, and furious towards her assailants. Therefore, with vigilante justice in her heart, and a win for women everywhere on her mind, she extracted a heavily-concentrated dose of essence of the belladonna flower, giving it to Deborah in a vial and warning her to be clever about how she administered it."

 

"How did she do it?"

 

“Whenever Deborah’s brother’s friends came about, they would often bring a container of their brand of concentrated juice with them. Their usual routine was along the lines of this: his friends would come over, they would chat for a while, go out into the backyard to do some smoking, return for a drink from juice container, at which point her brother would offer her the milk and then put her to sleep. You know what would happen next."

 

He grit his teeth in disgust. "They'd rape her."

 

Loki solemnly nodded. "Yes, they raped her. A girl of five."

 

He needed to know. "What happened next?"

 

"Little Deborah waited until she recognized each and every single one of their faces. There were seven men in total. They were all older than thirty years of age; the oldest, in fact, was well near sixty. Sometimes she would go up to them, greet them, shake hands with them and sit near them. All the while, she would gauge their reactions, her anger and sorrow masked beneath a smiling, cheerful child's face. Even at that age, Deborah was one of the craftiest girls in all of Florence. While in their company, Deborah was deducing the best way to have them all killed. All with a smile."

 

The meaning of her name came back to him. _Honey bee._ He was thinking it may have been a most apt name for her since childhood. "Get on with it already."

 

"One night, she was prepared. Her father came home at six, around the usual time, retiring to his den where he usually conducted his business. Deborah came wobbling in, a tray of tea in her hands. Her father smiled, wondering what his little minx of a daughter was up to. She said she just loved her daddy, and wanted to give him tea with which to relax. The man initially refused, saying he was too tired, but she convinced him, saying she worked hard to make him tea and that it would relax him." Loki gave a wry smile. "She hadn't been lying. She just left out the important detail that he'd be relaxing, forever."

 

He quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing. Loki continued. "Her old man took one sip and it wasn't too long before he keeled over, convulsing. She stood there, watching her father twitch and thrash about, dry-mouthed and rash breaking out, all with no pity in her gaze. Just cold, emotional detachment. She watched her father die, just like she had watched her innocence die."

 

The man signaled for another drink. Loki handed him yet another glass. "And what of her brother and his 'friends'? Where were they when this was going on?"

 

"Outside, smoking. She made sure to act while they were busy. She had used a tiny amount to kill her father. She only needed that much, of course, since Sophia made sure it was incredibly concentrated. A drop would've been enough to kill five men, giving them an incredibly excruciating death. Deborah used two."

 

"I would've used three."

 

"And I four, but it doesn't matter, since she only used two. What matters is what happens next."

 

"What happens next?"

 

"A massacre."

 

"Well, get on with it."

 

Loki chuckled, despite the grimness of the subject matter. "Alright, Mr. Womanizer. Deborah knew that the men got thirsty after searing their lungs out smoking. So she took the container of their favourite pomegranate/cranberry fusion juice and emptied the contents of the entire vial into the drink. She made sure to shake it very well. Then she grabbed a glass, and took it and the container to her room. Carefully, she poured a tiny bit of the concoction into the cup, and tilted it, letting it almost fall out before righting it again. This was so as to make it appear as though she had some of the drink herself as well. Then she placed the container onto her bedside stand, and slipped into a simple white bed dress before tucking herself into bed. She closed her eyes, but remained alert. She knew what would happen next."

 

"Didn't her brother and 'friends' find her dad?"

 

"No. The den was locked, and it wasn't unusual for Deborah's father to fall asleep at the den while inside. He had a habit of locking the doors so as to ensure his children wouldn't disturb him when busy, so his son saw nothing amiss. He knew his father was a heavy sleeper, which is how he was able to get away with whoring his sister out."

 

"Ah, I see. Continue."

 

"They went up the stairs and into her bedroom to find her fast asleep. Or at least appeared to be. You and I know better." He paused a moment, for dramatic effect. His eyes twinkled with a mischievous light as the story reached its climax. "Unsuspecting, her brother offered his customers the drink as one of them had complained when they had discovered it missing from the fridge. Her brother was displeased when he found out she 'drank' some of it, and thought to allow some of the men to be far rougher than he usually let them be in retaliation. The men gratefully accepted the drink, not bothering with a cup as they passed the container around and drank from it heartily.

 

"Her brother was about to take a swallow when he realized there was none left. He shrugged it off. He wasn't fond of the pomegranate/cranberry concoction anyways. He questioned which of the men would like to take her first that night, or if they'd like to all have a go at her all at once. They hesitated, questioning if she had taken the drug to deaden her to the world while they took their pleasure. Her brother waved them off, saying that since she had been taking the drug for so long, by now she should've slept like the dead without its help. " _Besides_ ," he had said, " _wouldn't it have been thrilling to fuck a girl who could wake up at any moment_?" Not like it would happen, he assured them, but still he wanted to let them take her in her current state. As it was, he wanted her to be punished without the safety net of the drug. She would feel it more in her sleep, he was sure, and her pain brought him pleasure.

 

"The eldest, nearing sixty, raised a pale, liver-spotted hand, volunteering to penetrate her first. Her brother nodded, and the man began to strip, unashamedly. Her brother sat in a chair in the corner, his eyes fixated upon his sister. His whore. That's all she was to him, a money-making machine. Just as the old man's hand neared her pale, supple skin, a tremor seized him, twitching and convulsing. Seconds later, all six other men were convulsing uncontrollably. Deborah's brother looked on in horror. What was going on? The men dropped like ragdolls, twitching and sputtering on the floor, their control of their voluntary muscles yanked from them by the belladonna.

 

"And that's when little Deborah sat up from her bed, sitting in her little, pure white bed dress, staring indifferently at her long-time assailants. Each and every one of them managed to make eye contact with Deborah for a second or two during their convulsions, and, even when they weren't able to make eye contact with her anymore, they died with the knowledge that the little girl who they had raped so many countless times was sitting there, staring, judging. She wanted them to know that they had been bested by a child."

 

His breath hitched. "And her brother?"

 

"He ran. She didn't bother chasing after him. She knew one day that she would hunt him down, and kill him, just like she had killed her father, just like she had killed those seven men. Just like they had killed her innocence dozens of times over."

 

The man turned a suspicious eye on the barkeep. "How do you know all this?"

 

Loki winked slyly. "I'm a barkeep. I hear things."

 

The Puerto Rican shook his head slowly, Loki turning to fetch more alcohol for a patron. It all made sense now. No wonder she disliked men intensely. The only two men she knew and trusted managed to fuck her over -- literally -- and destroy her belief of good in any of the opposite sex. He turned over his shoulder to look at her, but she wasn't there anymore. He wondered where she went, before he heard something slam onto the table beside him. Startled, he turned to look at the counter, only to spot money. Whipping his head around, he managed to glimpse her fiery red, form-fitting red dress and heels before she disappeared from the bar. Cursing, he turned back to Loki, who was smiling slightly.

 

"You think she heard?"

 

"She most definitely did, Felipe-san." It wasn't Loki who spoke, however. This voice was feminine, but it didn't belong to Deborah either. He recognized the voice, however, stiffening in response to it. Slowly turning in his seat, he was greeted by the sight of two old friends, as well as a young man and a boy.

 

He offered a small, unconvincing smile. "Lady Takamura. Lord Haruhiko. What a pleasure to see you here in Sicily."


	10. Yin 8: The Dragons’ Decision

Kyo studied the man before him. His name was Felipe, as Takamura had said. He seemed to be of average height, dark eyes, and a shiny white smile. The man had a green jacket on, slim white jeans, and black loafers. He also donned an expensive watch, which he noted didn't seem to be ticking -- why wear a watch if he couldn't tell time with it?

 

Haruhiko harrumphed at Felipe's words; he wasn't particularly fond of the Dragon of Life at all. Felipe's unconvincing smile was still on his face as he gazed between the two old comrades, ignoring the others.

 

"Still bitter about who got what, Haruhiko? You'd think a refined gentleman such as yourself would be above holding petty grudges and the like." He flashed a winning smile at the older man, who simply glared at the Hispanic man.  Clearly the charming act wasn't going to work on these two.

 

"What brings you guys to Sicily?" he ventured, offering a chuckle as he slowly regained his usual cockiness. Eyeing them, he noted that Takamura hadn't aged a day, while Haruhiko looked older than ever.

 

"I suspect you know what manner of business this is, Felipe-san, as two of your Order stand before you." The sensu fan she held wavered slightly, and Felipe's eyes shot to it. He saw the image of the feral dragon on it, and felt a pang of guilt; he hadn't exactly been keeping in contact with the other Dragons, despite their vow to keep each other informed.

 

The Dragon of Life ran his hand through his messy hair; he liked it that way, to give the ladies the impression that he was thrilling and wild and untameable -- after all, women loved to tame and have men change for them. He gestured to the table Deborah had sat at, indicating for Loki to visit them in a bit to take their orders. He rose, striding over to the booth as he slid in to the middle. Haruhiko and Sonic slid into one side, with Takamura sliding into the other. Kyo made to sit down with her, but Takamura stopped him.

 

"This is not a conversation you are meant to hear. Wait outside."

 

"But--" Kyo attempted to argue, but he was cut off by the sound of Takamura's sensu fan sharply snapping shut.

 

" _Ike."_

 

The boy frowned, knowing better than to keep arguing with her. He made to rise from the table, and Sonic rose with him. The young man smiled benevolently. "I'll keep you company." Kyo nodded briskly, skulking over to the front door, Sonic following him and closing the entrance behind them.

 

It was finally time to get down to business.

 

The man, Felipe, placed his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together as he glanced towards Haruhiko, than Takamura. "Well, who is it? Who was it referring to?"

 

Takamura gazed directly at him, her eyes sharp and austere. "A girl, similar in age to Kyo." She gestured to the boy who had just left. "You have heard of the Yamaguchi Massacre?"

 

"The one where the would-be politician and his wife was slain? Yes, I've heard about that when I was staying in Japan. It was carried out in order to demonstrate the power of the Yakuza, right?"

 

"Yes. The girl, Hatsumomo, was his daughter."

 

Surprise gripped Felipe. " _She's_ who they've got? What more could they want with the last living member of the Yamaguchi family?"

 

"She's not the last living member of the Yamaguchi clan. She has an elder sister. Her whereabouts are currently unknown."

 

"Shit." Felipe's eyes darted from side to side, thinking quickly. "Poor girl. What do they want with her? Why should she suffer for her father's insolence?"

 

"Insolence?" Haruhiko spoke up, his tone gruff. 'You dare call a man of Yamaguchi Hideo's calibre _insolent?_ The man, living or dead, has more honour than you. He did what he did to protect his family, Sapporo, and all of Japan. And what do _you_ do? You travel from country to country, consuming alcohol and lusting after women! Who are you to besmirch the Yamaguchi name?"

 

Felipe's lip curled, glaring at Haruhiko. "And what about you, old timer? You see fit to lecture me about my habits, yet there you sit within the lap of luxury in the Yakuza, the very killers of the Yamaguchi family! You run with that group, and you think you can lecture me? I'd watch your tongue, if I were you, Dragon of Death, before you experience your domain yourse--"

 

 _"Minna-san."_ Both men stopped instantly, head whirling to face Takamura. " _Be quiet._ Are you children? Are you this dysfunctional, unable to hold a simple conversation with your Order? How disgraceful, the Dragon of Death and Dragon of Life, both incapable of maintaining their cool disposition and honour their statuses as _Dragons_." Her words were sharp, biting into the men's egos. "The previous Dragons of Life and Death were noted to get along together famously. Yet here you two are, bickering like children, incapable of a kind word to each other. How would the previous Dragons who shared your title feel about this mockery of their dynamic legacy?"

 

Felipe said nothing, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. Haruhiko simply harrumphed, content to voice his displeasure subtly. Takamura went on, unperturbed.

 

"Felipe-san, you know very well that Haruhiko-san was placed in the Yakuza decades ago, with instructions to do as they asked of him. He was their pawn, but our knight: information gleaned by him may prove pivotal to our success. You would be wise to appreciate his presence in the mafia, not condemn it." The itako's burning onyx eyes turned onto the elderly man. "Haruhiko-san, I should hope you know better than to cause discord amongst your own. Your obsession with the Dragon of Life's position should've ended the moment you were selected Dragon of Death. Even if the previous Dragon of Life died as he did, leaving the position vacant, it is not for you to claim the title. You do not have that right nor that power. Know your place, Haruhiko-san, and do with it the best you can. You are getting on in years, so learn to appreciate what you have, before it is all taken away from you. Especially since this journey may be the last you, let alone all of us, partake in."

 

The old man grumbled, but he stopped when he caught the disapproving glance Takamura sent his way. He sighed. "Very well, Takamura-san. Felipe-san, _gomen nasai_. Forgive my rashful behaviour."

 

The Hispanic man nodded. "Forgive my impudent behaviour as well, Señor Haruhiko. I should not have spoken ill of a hero. Lo siento."

 

Both men nodded. Takamura then proceeded, a shadow of a smile on her face. "The first line of the prophecy has been fulfilled. Hatsumomo, the personification of Innocence, has been taken. ' _A hero shall rise, aided by a whisperer of death._ ' How convenient that Kyo stumbles into our lives not a day before Hatsumomo is kidnapped. I trust you see where I'm going with this."

 

Haruhiko's eyes shot wide open, and Felipe rose his eyebrows in surprise. " _T-that boy?"_ Haruhiko stuttered, disbelieving. "How do you know it's him? The boy has no observable talents!"

 

"' _Aided by a whisperer of death.'_ Haruhiko-san, surely you know of my abilities as an itako? I am the 'whisperer of death' prophesied to help the chosen one, as dictated by the prophecy revealed unto us. I believe Kyo to be the boy."

 

"On what reasoning?" Felipe interjected, stunned. "Why do you believe him to be the one?"

 

"It is as I said. How convenient for Kyo to stumble into Hatsumomo and I's life, as well as have Misaki-san acknowledge him, and Hatsumomo's disappearing less than a day after we met. Fate has a funny way of manifesting. There is also one other reason."

 

"Oh?" Haruhiko asked, sarcastically. "And what's that, Takamura-san?"

 

The itako looked Haruhiko dead in the eye before answering. "I have no intention of aiding anyone else. I believe him to be one of the Children of the Zodiac."

 

Felipe didn't know what to make of this. Takamura was going off a hunch, as though she could determine their fate by herself. "Now listen here, Señora Takamura, this is crazy talk. The boy is young, our enemy is strong, beyond our imagination's ability to perceive their strength. _He's a boy._ How can you possibly believe he's the one? How can you choose him, as though he _is_ one of the Children of the Zodiac? How do you know whether or not this is destined fate or your personal preference?"

 

Takamura sighed. "Felipe-san, Fate is not something that is easily understood. Nevertheless, I shall explain it. Fate is predominant in life. Some things are destined to occur. Others are destined not to. Fate is the ultimate power in determining one's future. However, there is also a force just as powerful, and some will argue more so."

 

"That being...?"

 

"Free will. Choice. We are free to choose how to handle our fate. We are able to choose how we react to it. For Hatsumomo, it was her fate to lose her parents at a young age. How she handled it, however, was her choice. She chose to move on and live her life a happy and smiling girl, as opposed to upset and perpetually depressed. Granted, she made that choice because she _had_ no other choice. Hatsumomo is not the type to sit by and let things play out. She actively chooses to participate. Likewise, we are destined to deal with the Yakuza and "sins sowed by the dead devil's hands"; how we go about that, however, is our choice. Do we deal with it by sitting idly by, doing nothing? Or do we take up arms against the impending evil and actively try to shape our own destiny? You see, Felipe-san, destiny and fate are best described as so: _they are forged by our choices._ It is through our actions that we determine our fate."

 

"But the prophecy--"

 

"The prophecy is a guide, nothing more. It dictates what happens, but does not tell us how we shall realize that fate. In accordance with the above, the world will rise or fall. That is for certain. It is up to us to begin the countermeasures to ensure it doesn't. Another way to look at it is such: we have the choice whether or not to act or gather the Children of the Zodiac. We have the choice whether or not to retrieve Hatsumomo. Fate, when left alone, is independent of our actions, it will come about either way. However, we can influence it _with_ our actions. How we get to it, how we react to it, that is all the result of our choices. Ultimately, the outcome may be fixed, but the way to get there is not."

 

Haruhiko grunted. "The fate of the world is dependent on our actions, is it?"

 

Takamura nodded. "Or our inaction. Whatever we do, we must do it quickly."

 

Loki came over then, a notepad in hand. "May I take your orders?"

 

Haruhiko waved his hand. "Alcohol over such grim matters? I think not."

 

" _Catarratto_ for me, Loki." Felipe smiled, eyeing Takamura. "Perhaps the same for the lady?"

 

"I prefer red wines to white. _Nero d'Avola_ will do. _Grazie mille, gentile signore_."

 

Felipe looked impressed. "Señora Takamura, you know your _Italiano_? I'm impressed."

 

"You pick up skills as you live, Felipe-san. This just happened to be one of them."

 

Felipe chuckled. "How very true. I've picked up a few skills myself."

 

"Oh? And they would be?"

 

"Well, I happened to be rather accomplished at--"

 

"Your drinks are ready," Loki chimed in, interrupting him. Felipe's train of thought burned and crashed as soon as he saw the wine. " _Buon appetito_."

 

" _Grazie_ ," the drinkers responded, before taking sips. Haruhiko eyed them judgmentally, forbidding himself one of his vices.

 

Loki grinned brilliantly at the Daughter of the Dragon. “Lady Takamura, it really has been quite some time. I’m very glad to see you. Are you glad to see me? And what do you think of my following in your footsteps and running a drinking establishment? Makes me feel nostalgic of the days where I used to live and work with you at your inn. Are you proud of how I turned out?”

 

Takamura’s onyx eyes met Loki’s emerald ones with a fondness as she took in the appearance of the shaggy, raven-haired, slender young man. “A brilliant boy like you? Working at a bar? Bah! What a waste. So much wasted potential.” Loki could tell that she was pulling his leg, though her eyes seemed to avoid his. For a moment, he allowed himself to look hurt, but a second later Takamura laughed.

 

“I suppose I can’t complain – I’ll be the last pot to call a kettle black. You’ve done well for yourself, Loki-san. You’ve grown from that mischievous little boy I met into a fine, hard-working young man. You’ve got quite the future ahead of you, I’m sure.”

 

Loki laughed charmingly, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. “Of course, and I owe it all to you! Had you not taken me in, I would still be but a beggar on the streets of Sweden, playing folly into the hands of strangers. I genuinely can’t thank you enough for taking a chance on me, a miserable and untrusting little boy, even though I know I was a trouble-maker and a handful. Though I know not my parents, I suppose I’m glad they never had to deal with me. I honestly don’t know how you did it. But you did.” Eyeing the others, he added, “Friends of Lady Takamura are friends of mine. Whatever you order is on the house, my treat. Please don’t hesitate to visit more often, and keep in touch. Enjoy.”

 

With that, and a wink to Felipe, he swept from the table, back to tending the bar. Takamura watched him go fondly, a proud smile playing about on her lips. After a few seconds, Felipe’s eyebrows rose as he put two and two together. “It was him, wasn’t it? He told you where to find me!”

 

“Indeed he did,” Takamura said, turning back to face her booth-mates. “I know you took a shine to the boy when last you saw him, and he promised to keep me informed on your whereabouts should you turn up in Sicily.”

 

Felipe scowled, making a mental note to have a few words with Loki when he could. Haruhiko cleared his throat to get their attention.

 

"Well, what now? Takamura-san is to help Kyo, and she believes him to be one of the Children. I fail to see where Felipe-san and I's names come into this."

 

"You swore the Dragon's Dedication all those years ago to aid me when the time came, putting your life on the line if need be to ensure the prophecy was fulfilled in the best terms as possible. Just as all the other Dragons did with you. You know the consequences should you use your Dragon's Denial on such a matter -- not to mention you know each Dragon only may use the Denial thrice in their lifetime. You have already used all yours, have you not? You know full well, Haruhiko-san, I needn't remind you."

 

"Twice." The old man nodded gruffly, knowing her words to be true. "I've used it twice. I do not intend to use the Dragon's Denial on this matter, seeing as it affects even me -- there may not be a later time with which I _can_ use my Denial, so it seems I have no choice." Haruhiko sighed, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose and corners of his eyes vigorously. "I'm getting too old for this."

 

"Dragons are for life, Haruhiko-san. You're not old enough until Death himself deems you old enough and comes to claim you."

  
Felipe coughed. "Well, going back to what Señor Haruhiko was saying, what do we do now? We've established that Kyo is apparently the One promised to deliver the world from ruin. What comes next, in terms of actions? What do we have to do?"

 

Takamura's eyes narrowed, thinking. "The prophecy states that he will go through trials, rising to fame. It's highly unlikely that he will manage such if he doesn't have any skills to demonstrate. Which is why we've got to call upon another old friend."

 

"And what of Hatsumomo?" Felipe inquired. "Should we leave her in the hands of the Yakuza, completely at their mercy, while we go about this quest?"

 

"This quest started off with her kidnapping. Rest assured, we will rescue her. For now, however we must focus on the task at hand. When all is said and done, Hatsumomo will be returned to us alive." She paused for a sip of her wine. "You also make the mistake of assuming Hatsumomo is at their mercy."

 

"What do you mean, Señora Takamura? This is the Yakuza we're talking about, the deadliest gang in all of Asia, and definitely one of the worst gangs to mess with in the world. How is Hatsumomo _not_ at their mercy?"

 

The itako smiled cryptically. "Simply put, debts can be paid in more ways than one."

 

"Who is this 'old friend' of ours? Another Dragon?" Haruhiko questioned.

 

"No, he is not a Dragon. He is a close friend of the Dragons, however. A guardian, and King of the Beasts."

 

Haruhiko's eyes shone with the dawning of understanding. "Ah, him. The boy, Kyo, will be training with Sifu Lao Shi then, I take it?"

 

Takamura nodded. "Yes. If anyone can get him up to scratch, it's Sifu Lao Shi. He did with the others." She didn't need to elaborate further. They both knew Takamura was referring to her previous wards.

 

They exchanged a glance. "Are you sure, Takamura-san?" Haruhiko whispered, the moment Felipe got up to get another drink. "This wouldn't be the first time you believed that the hour had come upon us. Understandably so, the signs are always very confusing, but are y--"

 

"I'm sure." Takamura's words were sharp, unflinching. She was right, she was so sure of it. She had to be.

 

She couldn't handle it if she was wrong this time. If she was wrong yet again.

Felipe returned laughing, the after effects of sharing a joke with Loki. He slid into the booth, sighing in pleasure, a new drink in his hand. He gazed at his solemn companions, looking between them, before grinning. "Oh, perdóneme. Am I interrupting something here, or...?"

 

Haruhiko spluttered in shocked rage, and Takamura responded with a calm tone. "Yes, in fact, you are. This is a matter of life and death, the fate of the world, all that clichéd "world depends on a few select heroes" garbage, except in real life. I would expect you to know that those who make light of deadly situations usually end up dead themselves, and generally quickly at that."

 

The playful grin dropped slowly from Felipe's face; Takamura sure knew how to ruin a joke, even if she was right. He heaved a sigh, before proposing his question.

 

"So where does this Lao Shi guy live?"

 

" _Sifu_ Lao Shi," Takamura corrected, "lives on one of the Five Sacred Mountains of China. He resides in solitude atop the Eastern Great Mountain in the Shāndōng Province. It is called _Tài Shān_ , the "Tranquil Mountain." It is not easy to get there, and Sifu Lao Shi only sees those whose character he judges worthy of his teachings. Many have tried to seek him out for idle reasons, and many more have died. Even fewer have returned. Sifu Lao Shi is not the most amicable man, but he gets the job done. I suggest," she said, her tone becoming rather sharp, “you respect him with his distinguished title as _Sifu_ , lest you anger him. Sifu Lao Shi is not a man you wish to be angered."

 

"Is he really as impressive as you say? I've heard things about him from here and there during my travels," Felipe intoned, rubbing his jaw in thought. "Sifu Lao Shi is quite the fearsome man from what I've heard."

 

"That is to be expected," Haruhiko stated, glancing at his companion. "The man is a living legend, and his reputation is justified. He is considered among the best masters under which to train. There are less than a handful of his full-fledged protégés, let alone those who are alive, our esteemed colleague Takamura-san being the only female. If Takamura-san is any indication of the level of mastery Sifu Lao Shi can instill in his pupils, then we must make haste in approaching him and requesting his tutelage for Kyo."

 

"It is settled then," Takamura stated with finality. "We shall head there first thing in the morning. To the Tài Shān, the Land of the Lion, shall we go." She smiled, almost amusedly. "I have not seen Sifu Lao Shi since I was in the prime of my youth. Now he shall see me in my age."


	11. Yang 9: Moonlight Musings

Keys jingled as the door to the apartment opened. Elegant dress shoes stepped onto the brilliant, lush purple welcome mat, and the door closed behind the man. Pale moonlight filtered in through the wall-length, transparent windows in the dimly-lit pent suite apartment; the light was almost as pale as his skin. The man set down his briefcase and removed his elegant, slender black trench coat, hanging it up on the ornately-carved and polished wooden coat rack by the door.

 

Soft, slow steps treaded across the plush carpet as the man took his time, hands in his pockets as he made his way towards the ceiling-high window. His pale yellow scarf trailed behind him in his wake. He passed by the elegant and sumptuous couches placed artistically about the suite, as well as the easels upon which stood canvas portraits -- some done, others waiting to be started. His elegant shoe-clad feet carried him past the smooth, large, obsidian grand piano with ebony and ivory keys turned away from the window, past the materialistic belongings he possessed, instead taking him to the enormous window.

 

The moon shone in all its glory, dominating the night sky with its luminescence. He stared at it, admiring the celestial body; it was truly a magnificent sight, standing out among all its companions in the sky, even though they were stars and it was not. That didn't stop it from shining the brightest amongst all those in the sky, and showing off its brilliance.

 

He usually only had eyes for the moon, but tonight he looked at the other stars. They were bright, to be sure, but they did not hold a candle to the moon. They never could. Most people would consider stars a far more respectable and impressive natural phenomenon than a satellite like the Moon, but he was not most people. He disagreed very much with the majority opinion. The moon was beautiful, brilliant, underappreciated. It was the reason for tides as well, not to mention the obvious benefit of reflecting light and enabling humans to see even at night.

 

Most people simply considered the Sun the better of the two celestial bodies that dominated the sky every day and night. The sun provided warmth and life and light, of that there was no dispute. He simply felt that while the Sun got its due appreciation, perhaps even more so than it deserved, the moon was largely ignored. It was a bit upsetting that so many people chose not to acknowledge its beauty.

 

But, then again, most people were stupid anyways.

 

His dark eyes flickered between the stars and the moon. A small smile came to his face. Something supposedly inferior by nature was ultimately more outstanding than those stars that were born with the advantage of generating their own light. Fitting, he thought, for with hard work, even the born-weak could defeat those blessed with natural disposition towards strength. Just like how the moon now outshone all those stars, a literal brilliant example.

 

"Are you watching this, old friend?" he asked quietly, to no one in particular. No one that could hear him here, anyways. "You were the Sun to my Moon, always shining so brilliantly, side by side. Are you watching me now, as it is my time to shine?"

 

There was no answer; he didn't expect one. Silence reigned supreme in his apartment suite. Cars drove by on the street far below him, headlights shining and traffic lights flashing, but there was no blaring of the horns. No commotion. Most were asleep. When darkness fell, most fell to sleep along with it. Not him, however.

 

The night was when he felt most alive.

 

He admired the night as well. It was generally associated with darkness and malevolence and evil, but that wasn't necessarily the case at all. True, it may be associated with the unknown, but to him, that was simply all the more reason to appreciate it. Curiosity was a glorious thing, especially one as insatiable as his; it drove him to question, to investigate, to contemplate and theorize about everything he experienced. The unknown wasn't a danger to him -- it was a _challenge_. And he certainly enjoyed his challenges.

 

People tended to shy away from challenges, wanting the easy way out of everything. He personally didn't see the appeal of that. If everything came easy to him, it wouldn't be fun. He was always pursuing fun activities for the sake of relieving his crippling boredom, and challenging activities generally proved far more fun than average, mundane, everyday tasks. He was nothing if not a thrill-seeker.

 

This late at night, he noted how quiet his entire apartment sounded. Even his neighbours and tenants below him made no noise, clearly in the grip of a heavy slumber. He always appreciated times like these; silence, quiet reflection, and peace. The feeling of being the only one awake in the entire world made him feel very powerful, very giddy, almost as if he had achieved inner peace.

 

 

Pale moonlight illuminated his already deathly pale, strikingly handsome face. He stared at the moon for a moment longer, gazing intently at the celestial body, before looking away. He would take a shower now. The moon would still be there when he got back, if this wasn't one of the times he stayed in the shower for hours. That tended to happen often, as lost in his thoughts as he usually was.

 

He crossed the room in a few strides, his signature pale scarf billowing out behind him, his long legs treading silently as they always did. He began unbuttoning his crisp white dress shirt as he strode towards the bathroom door, turning the doorknob and entering the bathroom, flipping on the light as he entered. He closed the door behind him, not bothering to lock it. No one would bother him, assuming they could even get in his suite. No one was awake to.

 

He pulled the shirt off him, letting it fall to the floor. He glanced at the mirror, admiring his slim and toned physique for a moment, before unbuckling his dark black, pure silver-buckled belt. He unhitched the clasp, pulling the belt off in a single deft hand movement, extending his arm far out from his body. He tossed the belt aside, not paying attention to where it landed. His exquisite shoes clacked sharply against the tiled floor of the bathroom as he walked towards the mirror. He ran a casual hand through his hair, detangling some of the messy, raven black locks. His unkempt, perpetually shaggy hair remained in such a state regardless of how he tried to tame it. He had accepted it, though, and was amused at its stubbornness -- how very fitting for his hair to be as stubborn as himself.

 

His thoughts drifted back to the shower he longed for. He stepped on the back of his right shoe with his left, and extracted his bare foot from the shoe. The man noted unpleasantly how cold the tiled floor was, but said nothing. He then used his bare foot to mimic the same movement, this time on his left foot, discarding his other shoe. Both feet were now bare and touching the cold, shiny surface of the linoleum-tiled floor. He turned, unzipping his refined, jet black dress pants and utilized gravity to his advantage, the pants dropping immediately and crumpling to the ground. He raised his right leg then his left leg out of the pants, stepping before the pants and putting them behind him. He glanced back at the mirror for a second, admiring his nigh-nude form. He assessed himself to be rather handsome, as objectively as he could; this was reinforced by the comments of everyday pedestrians and passers-by. He often politely turned down the phone numbers of women and numerous men, as he had no interest in romance. It was just a distraction, as far as he was concerned.

 

He realized his thoughts drifted off track yet again. He chuckled lightly, almost under his breath, noting that he shouldn't be so easily distracted. He hooked his fingers under his black boxer-briefs, and let them drop as well. All that was left on him was his scarf.

 

The pale, handsome man kept the scarf on, heading to the large, see-through glass container that was the shower place. The ground was cold to an uncomfortable point, but he ignored it -- he'd soon be enveloped by heat. He pulled open the glass door, stepping inside before putting it back in its original closed position.

 

His slender hand reached for the ornately-wrought glass handle, grasping onto the one with a thin band of blue-switching-to-red around it, indicating it controlled the temperature of the water. He turned it all the way to left, to the highest degree, turning it to the hottest setting. The water that shot out from the showerhead above assaulted him with a blast of bone-chilling cold water, but he waited patiently. Within seconds, the temperature changed drastically, becoming hotter rather quickly. His muscles relaxed soon enough; hot showers had an immense calming effect on him.

 

He tilted his head up, eyes closed, facing the onslaught of scalding water face on. The water pounded against his face, the pressure welcome, water droplets cascading down his face to continue their journey down his svelte, pale body. His hair immediately flattened and tangled, plastering itself about his face. His scarf became damp and clung to his body, taking on a darker shade of yellow due to the absorption of water. Awake, alone, night showers. It gave him joy like no other.

 

He thought about what he did today. He'd sent quite a few people on hapless goose chases, looking for a culprit to an unexplained murder; in truth, he was the perpetrator. The beggar boy had been blathering on about how his life was miserable and how he wished to end his life. He obliged him, offering him a cheery smile and a consoling hug before snapping his neck with a rather nasty crack. The boy had slumped to the ground, and the man had smiled down at him, noticing how peaceful his face was. To end the suffering of another, he considered that a good deed. The boy, perhaps, not so much, but he was had begged. And beggars couldn't be choosers.

 

The police had questioned him when they saw him nonchalantly leaving the scene, walking away at a leisurely pace. He had been cooperative, and told them he had seen a young woman rushing away from the scene, carrying a guitar case that he believed to have belonged to the homeless boy; "a method to pander up some money from generous pedestrians, no doubt," he had told them with an apologetic look on his face. "The poor boy not only had his life stolen, but his livelihood as well."

 

The police had been grateful for his information, dashing off in the general direction of the woman he claimed to have seen her disappear off towards. They were ignorant of the fact that he had spoken to the woman before as well, advising her to get away from the scene as soon as possible, lest the police arrest her instead of the actual culprit. "They tend to do that, nowadays, as corrupt as they are," he said, frowning slightly. "When they have no suspects, they do whatever they can to assure the public they've done _something_ , and, little miss, I'm afraid that you just may qualify as something."

 

"They'd arrest me because I was at the scene, even if I'm innocent?" The woman couldn't have been more than 20, and an aspiring musician by the looks of her guitar case. For some reason, he had a slight suspicion she was more competent than most people. Competent people were pleasant, except when they meddled in one's plans. He actually was appreciative of the stupidity displayed by most people in that facet; it usually meant his plans went off without a hitch.

 

He considered her a thread that needed to be snipped. Giving her a friendly smile, he responded, "They've been known to do such. I'd get away if I were you." She thanked him for his words and ran off, just as the police arrived moments later. He had considered calling in a mercenary to hunt down both parties for an extra twist, but he dismissed the idea. Seeing what happened by itself would be far more fun, and he'd meddled enough in such a meaningless misadventure.

 

Surprisingly, the woman hadn't been caught, so he assumed she was even more competent than he had first suspected. She may become a player in his game later on, but for now, she was no more than a pawn to be ignored. She wasn't important, at least not now. Maybe later, but he had a sneaking suspicion that she would be. He preferred living in the moment, however, so later did not concern him, at least in this instance.

 

Piping hot water continued to splatter onto him and all about him. Of all the mischievous things he had done today, that was the most lackluster. Snapping a child's neck and framing the murder on the girl and misleading the police wasn't exactly thrilling. He considered it a slow day. Derailing a train and causing a catastrophic, fatal collision between it and another one was only marginally more amusing. Aiding an elderly woman cross the street but dropping her to the ground when a truck happened to roar by made him smile slightly; it was one of his better ones, explaining to spectators that she had begun to experience a seizure and "slipped from my grasp". Then, saying he was running late for the delivery of his wife's child, he bowed and swiftly sauntered away, his pale yellow scarf billowing about behind him majestically.

 

He noticed a change in the temperature of the water -- it was slight, a bit cooler, but he still was aware of it. He suspected he'd been in there for an hour and a half, mind wandering to lost thoughts. Glancing down, he saw his penis. He considered playing with it, his pale palm ghosting lightly over his crotch. He withdrew his hand, unamused. Ultimately, he was uninterested in any sexual or pleasurable stimulation; that is what his 'mischievous behaviour' brought him.

 

The events of the day bored him, if he were true to himself. It had been years since he'd actually pulled off a caper that thrilled him to the core. He had had a partner in crime, or, as they had preferred, "a match in mischief." It had been with him that they had orchestrated the single most fulfilling and thrilling event he had taken part in.

 

But that was neither here nor there. That memory sometimes brought him unpleasant feelings, along with some bitter nostalgia, so he left off his recollection at that point. The water had turned cold perhaps half an hour ago, but he had been too absorbed in his thoughts to care. That particular thought always managed to deprive him of his awareness, something he seldom allowed.

 

He brought a pale, unwithered hand to the glass handle and turned it all the way to the right, shutting off the water. For some reason, his hand and feet never took on that pruny, elderly look as most people did when in water for too long. He took amusement in that little ability. The glass shower place had fogged up, but he could see there was no one on the other side. He pushed open the glass door, stepping outside as the air in the room chilled him, almost as much as the damp scarf that wrapped around his slender neck.

 

A dark purple towel hung on the rack attached to the wall near the door. The man strode over to the rack, extricating the neatly folded towel and unfolding it with a single, deft hand movement. Now unfolded, the towel revealed an elegantly embroidered, lavender italic letter _G_ , followed by a period, in a unique font. The initialed towel shook as he quickly dried his body, toweling his hair with fast, furious strokes. His hair was still slightly damp, and hung in a mixture of loose threads and thick clumps. He considered drying his scarf as well, but he left it as was. It would dry soon enough without his assistance, as it always did. He released his grip on the towel when he was done, letting it fall to the ground. His clothes were still scattered about the room, but he left them as they were. Sometimes they felt a bit too restricting, fond of them as he was.

 

He turned off the light with a lazy flick of his finger, closing the door behind him. Right away, he could tell that the air in the room was different, not as it had been a couple of hours ago when he stepped into the shower. He knew this peculiar feeling all too well, and he knew what it meant. Nevertheless, he walked into the living room, past the portraits and paintings he had created in his idle boredom. There were several finished works – one in particular was of a brilliant, blazing bird surrounded by darkness. Another was of a circular enclosing, twelve animals painted into equally divided quarters within. Yet another depicted a rather creepy-looking, elegantly-dressed child who held a cat in his hands. He was quite the artist, and those paintings were unique in a way that benefited him very much so. He never denied himself the luxury of painting when the feeling struck him.

 

And, as it just so happened, he felt the desire now. Navigating his way through the dark room thanks to the moonlight that streamed in through the window, he picked up a palette with a variety of bright and subtle colours, as well as a brush and a jar of water. He ignored the paintings portraying grim and nightmarishly macabre scenes and events, as well as people, instead opting to select an easel upon which stood a blank canvas. With smooth, deft hand strokes, he began to paint almost out of compulsion, his eyes focused upon the canvas as it began to slowly transform from white and empty to bursting with colours and creatures. His eyes glittered with something like knowledge as he continued to paint a picture that became more and more clear to him.

 

A short while later, he was done; it couldn't have taken him more than fifteen minutes from start to finish. He placed down the palette, glancing at the end result. A smile, wider and more genuine than any he had smiled in a long time, tugged at the corners of his lips. This looked to be promising. He didn't know exactly what it was, or what it meant, but he would in time. He always did.

 

He sighed contently, gazing at his creation. A thought occurred to him, one he had almost forgotten. At the bottom right corner, in a brilliant shade of purple, he replicated the elaborate _G_ that had been embroidered on his towel. He stepped back to look at his handiwork, smiling. "How macabre."

 

Turning to the moon once more, he sauntered over the sinfully soft carpet to the seat positioned before the ceiling-high window, before the still brilliant moon. He gazed at it in silence for a few moments, before speaking softly.

 

"How long have you been there, Gin?"

 

White slippers shuffled over a linoleum floor as a young man barely out of his teens appeared, approaching from the shadows. He was dressed in a black butler suit, complete with a white dress shirt and black bow-tie. His dark hair was parted and slicked to the side, giving him a refined, distinguished look. His face was youthful and comely, but his stormy gray eyes and arching eyebrows served to make him look rather intimidating. He stepped forward, coat-tails flapping about behind him, bowing and placing one white-gloved hand across his chest as he did so.

 

"Not long," he responded crisply, straightening up. He made no reference to his master's nudity, a habit he was long used to by now. "Perhaps an hour. I've prepared your favourite White Dragon tea, fresh from the supply you brought. I shall pour some, if you'd like."

 

"If you would." He held out his hand, and an elaborately-painted saucer was placed in it, carrying the fancy china tea cup full of the beverage. He brought it about to his chest, saucer exchanging hands, before picking it up with his left. He sipped the tea, all the while gazing at the moon. He placed the cup back on the saucer, pausing for a moment, before speaking again.

 

"You know, most employees of mine refer to me as 'Sir.'"

 

Gin almost smiled. "I'm not most employees, sir."

 

He chuckled. "That you aren't, Gin. How fares our mischievous friends?"

 

"More or less the same. I've received no reports of any malevolent or treacherous misbehaviour. They remain loyal, as you said they would."

 

The pale man almost seemed upset, his free fingers twiddling about in his pale yellow scarf. "It's a pity. I had expected them to at least try _something_. It's a bit disappointing, really. You'd think they, of all people, would be the ones up to some naughty behaviour."

 

"They do, sir. Just not as 'mischievous' as your standards would expect. You expect too much of them."

 

"Perhaps. As for Alabaster...?"

 

"His day off. He's on-call, however."

 

“And where are Luce and Ombra?”

 

“They are with Alabaster, as well. They are being tended to with the utmost care. I could summon for him, if you’d like.”

 

"I have no need for him now. He'll be in tomorrow, regardless, as will you." He gestured over his shoulder to the painting he had finished recently. "Make sure no harm comes to it, nor is it misplaced. It's quite valuable to me."

 

Gin glanced towards the fantastic albeit dreadful painting, eyeing it with slight interest. "It looks no different from your others, aside from perhaps being even more macabre than usual."

 

"Nevertheless, make sure no harm comes to it. It will prove pivotal in the future. You may go."

 

Gin bowed before turning to leave, almost making it to the door before his master's voice stopped him.

 

"Wait a moment."

 

Gin turned to look over his shoulder, slight amusement in his eyes as he considered what the matter was. A second later, he asked, "Yes?"

 

A few seconds passed in silence before he got his answer.

 

"Isn't the moon looking especially glorious tonight?"

 

The young butler paused for a moment, amused at his employer's fascination with the celestial body, before responding. "Yes, sir, it looks lovely."

 

With that, he swept from the apartment, closing the door softly and leaving his master to his silent musings by moonlight.


	12. Yin 10: A Knight in Soaking Armour

Rain fell drearily from above, drizzling in a most depressing manner.

 

Alice paid no attention to the slowly-building downpour. In fact, she quite liked the dark atmosphere; there was something comforting about the thunderstorms and the rainfall that accompanied them. Most people would consider it unnecessarily annoying and a major inconvenience, but not Alice. She appreciated the life-sustaining sky water, and enjoyed watching it patter against her window.

 

The young Caucasian woman didn't have to watch it from a window at home right now, however, as she was racing out of the Blanche Nevile School for Deaf Children, intent on catching the last train homebound. She was running late, having opted to stay at school after hours and prepare, and she hadn't brought her umbrella. She thought that today was going to be clear cast well into the night, but apparently she'd been dead wrong.

 

Cursing her lack of foresight, she dashed through the streets of London, heading towards King's Cross station. She needed to be there within ten minutes, or she'd be stranded. Alice was already drenched, her short blonde bob haircut plastered to her face, sticking to her  pale cheeks and covering parts of blue eyes. The slim pencil skirt was sticking to her in most uncomfortable ways, and she was quite sure that her underwear was somewhere it had no business being. She had to hightail it home, and soon.

 

Round the corner, across the street, and past the distinctive, cobblestone driveway, and she was there. Steam was pouring out the smokestack, and it looked like it was ready to leave. Quickly making her way over to the door, she felt a tug on her skirt that took her by surprise. A dodgy-looking man with a top hat in a drenched trench coat grinned at her with crooked and yellow teeth, his hand still on the hem of her pencil skirt.

 

"What's the hurry, luv? You looking for a good time?"

 

Alice yanked on her skirt, but he didn't loosen his grip. "I'm not looking, thanks," she said coolly, slowly backing away in hopes he'd get the message. "I've got a train to catch, so if you'd excuse m--"

 

"C'mon, luv, you can cop a ride with me, we'll go for dinner and maybe do it in the loo, if that's to your fancy."

 

"What's to my _fancy_ ," Alice began, really starting to get angry, "is getting on this train and going home. Let go of me, you bloody wanker."

 

"You hear that, mates? She wants me to let go. And she called me a bloody wanker. What have we to say to that, mates?"

 

Alice's eyes widened as she saw more men come forward, at least half a dozen men all wearing trench coats and bowler hats for some reason. The man with the top hat was quite clearly their leader -- was this some sort of gang? What did they want with her?

 

"Are you such manky prats that you've got to have this many men to threaten a woman? You lot are cowards. _Bloody wankers!_ "

 

The man laughed hoarsely. "There she goes again, boys, calling me a bloody wanker. It's like she's asking for it." He tugged on her skirt tighter, lowering it the tiniest bit, bringing his face closer to hers. "Bloody wanker, am I? If you'd like, I'd show you a bloody wanker." He grabbed his crotch and gave it a tug, grinning menacingly at her all the while.

 

Alice was utterly revolted, her face conveying her dismay at the situation rather bluntly. Just as she was about to retort, she was cut off by the intercom system buzzing on to relay an announcement.

 

_"All aboard the train at Platform 9, all aboard, last call. The train will depart in five minutes."_

 

Desperation began to claw at Alice's conscience. "I need to get on that train right now, _let me go!"_

 

"Let you go, you say? Alright."

 

The man yanked her by the skirt, pulling her closer, and grabbing her by the wrist. He turned, dragging her along the platform towards the front of the train. She struggled against his grip, but it was iron-tight, and she couldn't escape.

 

“Let _go!"_ Alice repeated, stumbling behind him as he yanked her along. He ignored her, dragging her without a glance backwards, his grip on her wrist bruising. "What're you doing? _Let go of me, let go, let go! Help me, somebody, help!"_

 

She was pleading to the people on the train, but no one so much as acknowledged her. Two women, prim and proper in appearance, glanced out their window to the spectacle below, but made no move to help her; in fact, they seemed to be gossiping about it.

 

He dragged her to the first platform at the front of the train. He then pushed her, until she was wheeling dangerously between the tracks, trying to regain her balance on the slippery platform, held up only by her grip on his calloused hand. He then looked at her desperation, and smiled, almost sweetly. “What am I doing? Why, just what you asked. _Letting go._ "

 

She realized what he meant a moment too late; he had let go of her hand, and she had begun falling. She opened her mouth to scream, as though the futile effort would save her, but she never got the chance...

 

...Before a hand snatched her by the wrist, and pulled her back onto the platform. Her scream turned into a gasp of surprise, her mind not even having time to process the action. She collapsed onto her hands, knees splayed out as she coughed and spluttered, eyes on the ground, shaking from the adrenaline coursing through her body as a result of the near-death experience she had just lived through.

 

Alice didn't know why she was still alive. Why did the man save her? Was he toying with her all along? No, she didn't think so; he had already established himself as a cruel and remorseless man. If such a person could be called a man, and not a monster, that is. Was he saving her just so he could do it again, to torture her psychologically some more? What kind of monster was he, to do this to strangers?

 

A chill was starting to grip her; she'd been out in the rain too long. She finally glanced up, bracing herself for the sight that awaited her: no doubt, she'd witness an ugly, close-up look of the man's face, his crooked yellow teeth serving to make his jeering grin all the more infuriating.

 

What she wasn't expecting, however, was all seven men, including the top-hat leader, sprawled out on the ground, groaning in their unconscious states. There was another man, a new one, who glanced down at the leader with something akin to hatred. His gaze was furious, truly a fearsome sight to behold.

 

' _Why was this man so protective of me_ ,' Alice wondered. ' _He doesn't even know me.'_ She then realized that someone doesn't have to know another to help them in a time of need. Perhaps the man just found the unconscious man's act utterly reprehensible. But even then, he seemed too...furious, for someone who was just passing by.

 

"T-thank you," she choked out, voice hoarse from shock. He didn't seem to hear her, seeing as he didn't acknowledge her. The whistle on the train blew, and the doors began to close. The train was about to depart, and she got up, dashing into the nearest car just as the doors closed. She was dripping wet, but it didn't matter; she'd made it.

 

Her sodden appearance earned her a few derisive glances from the prim and proper ladies on the train, eyeing her with disdain for _daring_ to drip water all over their compartment's floor. Alice simply glared, displeased with them. Did they expect her to control the weather around her? She shook her head, murmuring angrily to herself, as she plodded along the compartment until she found an empty seat in the last car, facing the back and with a window to boot.

 

Plopping down in the seat, Alice sighed in relief. It had been a close call, she'd almost lost her life trying, but she'd got onto the train and now all she had to do was wait. She most assuredly caught a cold, no doubt with how drenched she was by the rain. She may have had to call in ill from work for a few days, provided she would be sick as she suspected.

 

Brushing her straggled blonde bangs away from her eyes and tucking them behind her ear, she glanced out the window, watching the rain pitter-patter relentlessly against the compartment. A flash of lightning illuminated the sky, and a frightening bout of thunder cracked through the air seconds later.

 

"It's not that far then, is it?" she mused to herself, glancing towards the heavens. Dark, stormy clouds brewed about, hovering menacingly above them all. It was times like these she was torn between whether or not to believe in God. On the one hand, the heavens raged a fearsome sight, and it was quite startling to think a divine entity could lose its temper and have storms result. On the other hand, thunderstorms were like fevers: they had to get worse before they got better. Thunderstorms were scary, angry phenomena to most, but it also brought about much needed precipitation and sometimes, if they were lucky, a beautiful rainbow became visible as well. Perhaps thunderstorms were Mother Nature's way of being cruel to be kind.

 

Her thoughts wandered to the events of her day. She had her students create paper cards to commemorate the upcoming anniversary of one of their classmate's death, a little eleven year old girl. Her name had been Cassandra Wulford, a sweet little child who was a bright student and had a magnetic personality. She could charm and entertain all of her classmates, and displayed a similar ability to enamour her teachers as well. This was all despite her inability to hear, and her ability to interact with her surroundings and understand people despite such a handicap had always impressed Alice. As Alice recalled these events, her mind began to drift...

 

***

 

Cassandra was a small girl, but, much like her deafness, that hadn't stopped her from getting her point across. She was always so spirited, so lively, always knowledgeable and a born leader. Her ability to communicate had often led Alice to question why she was in the Blanche Nevile School for Deaf Children, as she demonstrated communicative skills that seemed to exceed even those of her age group who weren't afflicted with a disability. She had such a great future ahead of her, the charisma, potential and personality of a leader, but that had been ripped away from her with her untimely death.

 

Cassandra -- she had insisted on her full name, disliking the diminutive _Cassie_ \-- had usually been picked up by a man whom she later revealed to Alice was her older brother. She would tell Alice that she was more than capable of handling herself, and if she got into a spot of trouble, she'd just talk her way out of it as usual. That had made Alice smile; she knew it to be true.

 

What Alice didn't know was that Cassandra hadn't exactly been truthful when she said that her brother had finally broken down and given her permission to go home alone. Just to be sure, Alice made Cassandra wait an hour with her after all the other students had been picked up by their parents around 6 PM. Sure enough, her brother did not show up, so Alice figured her words to be true. She would've double checked with Cassandra's parents, but given that they never answered their phones and that they never came to pick her up in person, Alice had no idea what their situation was.

 

Offering to escort Cassandra home herself, the girl refused, saying she was more than capable of taking care of herself. Alice knew that to be true, but she still felt hesitant. After a little more wheedling from the girl, Alice gave in, unable to resist Cassandra's persuasive charms. Cassandra had been ecstatic and dashed off, leaving behind her Pokémon backpack. Alice had discovered this after the fact, and she very well couldn't have run off after her and leave the school unlocked, and yelling after a deaf girl wouldn't have exactly yielded her desirable results.

 

She had learned the news the day after. The police had arrived at the school, knocking on the door brutally; she had opened the door and questioned what purpose they had, and why they were so inconsiderate, disrupting the students' education.

 

"The little twats won't know the difference," one of the constables said, giving the students a rude glare. "They're deaf, ain't they?"

 

Alice's temple twitched violently. "They're little twats, are they? What does that make you? You're making a scene in front of my students. Bugger off."

 

She made to slam the door, but one of the constables placed his big boot in the doorway, preventing its close. He forcibly yanked the door open, and grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her out. "You're under arrest, as you are suspected to be in connection with the murder of Cassandra Wulford."

 

Whereas she had been struggling before then, all the fight went out of her at the mention of Cassandra's name. She felt as though all the air had been knocked out of her, and she felt an emotional disconnect from the world for a few moments. All she could feel was numbness.

 

"Murder...Cassandra...?"

 

"That's right. Little Cassandra Wulford got herself murdered last night at around 9 PM. Our sources say you were the last known person she was with, when you released her from the school unaccompanied. We could charge you with neglect or misconduct. You're coming with us."

 

Alice had bristled at that comment. "'Little Cassandra Wulford' _got herself_ murdered? What the bloody hell do you mean by that? That was the act of a murderer, killing her, not her fault."

 

"It was her fault for being stupid enough to go out at night by herself. And if not, it was your fault for letting her, if not both your faults. Now shut up and get in."

 

"Wait, these kids need supervision. We have to wait for the other teacher."

 

"Oh, suddenly you're all about supervision? Ha, what a laugh. Not like these kids are going to miss anything. They're lost causes anyway, what's a delay in their 'learning' going to do?"

 

Alice gave him the most vehement glare she could muster. "If they are as you say, then I'm the Patron Saint of Lost Causes. Now we _will_ wait _."_

 

They did as she asked, waiting as a teacher on the floor up would come and substitute Alice's class as well. Alice swore she'd never forget the humiliation she endured after being dragged away to the police station with her students watching on. The constables shoved her in the back, as well, and the deaf children just watched on, silent and wide-eyed. The other teacher, an older lady named Ms. Nym, ushered them back in, casting a worried look over her shoulder to Alice. Alice shook her head, telling her not to worry, and held her head high, before a constable grabbed the back of it and shoved her into the back.

 

She really hoped the children didn't see that.

 

At the station, they had questioned her, subjected her to interrogations -- the style with a good cop and a bad cop -- and even forced her to take a lie detector test. The entire time she maintained her innocence. The results were clear: while she had let Cassandra out by herself, she had taken pre-emptive steps required and expected of her, such as offering to take her home and waiting a certain time for Cassandra's guardian to show up. Upon being questioned whether or not it was true that Cassandra had told her that her brother gave her permission to go home, the lie detector determined Alice had been telling the truth when she said that. Much to the bad cop's dismay, Alice hadn't displayed complete and utter neglect, nor performed enough of an error for it to be considered misconduct. Warning her gruffly to keep in town and that she was to cooperate with the investigation, she was let go.

 

Instantly, the good cop, a rookie cop by the name of Quint, offered her a ride home (and a winning smile). She considered declining, because she didn't want company right now, especially with a cop, because she was torn up with guilt over Cassandra's death. Even if she wasn't the cause, she felt responsible -- she had been the one who let her go, she had been the one who hadn't insisted on accompanying her, she had been the adult in the situation. She found herself justifying her behaviour by noting Cassandra's persuasive charm, and caught herself -- it had been her fault, not Cassandra's for being people-savvy. And the fact that she had even tried to shove the blame onto the girl, even if not out loud, made her hate herself.

 

However, if she wanted to be alone and not deal with other people, then it would be a prudent idea to take a conveniently-offered mode of transportation other than the bus, especially since there would be even more people than the one person driving a car. She accepted, and he led her to the parking lot, gesturing to a covert, black Ford Focus. Alice raised her eyebrow.

 

"What, no fancy cop car? No abuse of authority? No showing off?"

 

Quint chuckled to himself. "What do you take me for, a git? Off duty, I'm just like everyone else." He held the door open, and she eyed him warily, before thinking she should show more 'lady-like' courtesy, thanking him and entering. She mustn't be rude -- he _was_ doing her a favour giving her a ride, after all.

 

Quint got into the driver's side, opening the right door and entering. He closed the door, and started up the car, smiling politely all the while. "And, now that I'm off duty, mayhaps you'll do me the honour of going out for a cup of coffee, or any beverage you'd like? Perhaps dinner, if you behave yourself." He winked, clearly playing with her.

 

' _Mayhaps?'_ She thought idly, questioning why he was using such an old phrase for 'maybe'. "Mayhaps not, thank you. I'm not exactly in the mood for socializing when I just learned my star pupil was brutally murdered."

 

His eyes flicked away, but she caught notice of it. "....She _was_ murdered, wasn't she? That's what you lot told me."

 

Quint began fidgeting. "Oh, yes, she was murdered, no one's doubting that. It's just..."

 

"Just...?" she said, prompting him.

 

"She was more than just murdered. She was also...raped."

 

Alice's eyes shot open. "No...why? Why would they do that?"

 

Quint shrugged, putting the car in gear. "Why would they murder an eleven year-old? These people are nutters, off their rockers. If you're going to harm someone, why not go all the way?"

 

Alice felt sick. "She was eleven. _Eleven."_

 

"The world is hardly fair, I know. She was eleven, deaf, and killed so young. I gather she had much potential."

 

Her eyes filled with tears, threatening to spill over. "She was my star pupil." She noted her use of the term 'was'. She hated it. "She was the cleverest little eleven year old girl you'd ever meet. You'd have never guessed she had an auditory disability."

 

"It's a shame."

 

They were silent for the rest of the journey, which took a surprisingly little time. It was only when they pulled up to her house did Alice think to question how he knew where she lived.

 

He sensed her question before she asked. "I'm a cop, remember?" he asked, laughing. "I have access to this sort of information."

 

She nodded. "Right. Well, thank you for the ride. And tell that rude bloke, your partner, that he needs to get shagged, and soon. I reckon that stick shoved up his arse isn't quite doing the job."

 

Quint had a good laugh at that. "Will do, Ms. Anberlin. Hold on," he called out, scrambling around in his car for a scrap of paper. He found one in the glove compartment, and took the pen off his dash and scribbled on the scrap, trying to see if it would work. When it didn't, he shook it vigorously, testing again, to no avail. He licked the tip of the pen this time, putting it to the paper and scribbling a bit. Black ink appeared on the paper, and let out an appreciative "Bloody hell, finally!" while scrawling down some digits. He handed the paper to Alice, who viewed the entire thing with an amused expression on her face.

 

"Just in case you get in trouble, or need a friend to talk to, or decide that you need to go out for coffee to get your mind off your miseries. Again, I'm sorry for your loss, and wish you a wonderful night. See you around, Alice Anberlin."

 

She gave him a little salute, watching him leave, before heading in for a cry before falling asleep...

 

***

 

Alice sat up, startled. The train's gentle rocking had woken her up. She figured she had fallen asleep during her mind's wandering; no wonder she had been able to recall everything with such vivid detail. She had been asleep. Glancing out the train's window, the rain still fell, and she recognized a familiar landmark and realized she hadn't been asleep for long; twenty minutes, at most. Thankfully, her stop was ten minutes away from the current location, so she didn't miss it.

 

Sighing in relief, she turned away from the window, glancing at the passengers. An elderly man snored openly, head lolled back in sleep, the lady next to him, presumably his wife, inspecting a newspaper. Behind them were a couple of teenagers, three boys and a girl. The guys were making crude jokes, and the girl seemed uncomfortable. Getting up out of her seat, Alice stalked over to berate the boys.

 

They saw her coming, and sneered at her. "Who's this slag?" one questioned, his rat-like face jeering at her. "Your mother, Chels? She does look a bit like you, yeah, what with her being a minger and all."

 

Alice promptly punched him in his face.

 

The boy grasped his nose, blood seeping out between his fingers. "You bloody slag! Who do you think you are?"

 

Alice punched him in the face once more.

 

The teen passed out from the pain, eyes rolling up as he lost consciousness.

 

"Who's the bloody slag now?" she demanded, glaring down at the boy. "I'll give you a hint: it's not me."

 

She turned her gaze on his companions. The other two boys were afraid, their jeering attitudes long gone. They grasped their unconscious friend and disappeared, scurrying to another compartment like dogs with their tails between their legs.

 

"Wankers," Alice murmured. Turning to face the girl, she asked, "Are you alright? Chelsea, is it?"

 

The girl nodded, eyes wide and doe-like. "Thank you," she whispered, disbelieving of what occurred.

 

Alice nodded. "Right. Next time those blokes bother you, if they do, that is, just punch them real quick. They're nothing more than cowardly dogs, with their bark far worse than their bite."

 

The girl nodded in response, and Alice got up, looking about. The two women who had been gossiping earlier as she had been assaulted glanced towards her frightfully, whispering in hushed tones amongst themselves. Alice gave them a glare, and immediately they tilted their large, flowery hats, hiding their eyes from view to impede their eye contact. Alice smiled. It seemed even those two who had seemed so shameless before weren't utterly such. She glanced about some more. Aside from them, no one seemed to care. Her eyes caught those of a man, unique silver ones, and she froze: she'd seen him before.

 

He was the one who saved her from those predatory men at the train platform. Her eyes flicked away for a second, before flicking back. He was watching her intently, and she suddenly felt awkward. What should she say?  She had said thank you, though he hadn't responded. Perhaps he hadn't heard her? Perhaps she should thank him again? Right, that seemed the proper course of action.

 

Turning to face him, she waved a bit, smiling slightly as she said "Thank you very much." His eyes pierced her as she held his gaze, and he said nothing. After a long moment, he nodded.

 

She understood herself to be dismissed. Slightly bowing once more in appreciation, she walked back to her seat, avoiding eye contact with him despite the fact her seat resulted in her facing his direction. How had she not noticed him earlier? The entire situation was awkward.

 

A few minutes passed, in silence thankfully, before her stop was called. She got off and glanced towards the sky. It was still pouring rain. Pulling her damp cell phone out of her skirt's pocket, she noted it was nearly midnight. She probably shouldn't have stayed behind so long, but she did not regret it: it had been to prepare for the one-year anniversary of Cassandra's death, so she would've stayed longer if the janitor hadn't sent her home with worries about her health.

 

Sighing, she began the long trek towards her house. When traveling by train, as she did every day, she had to navigate through a graveyard, a particularly abandoned and desecrated cemetery. Naturally, it was more terrifying at night than it was during the day. Even during daylight hours, however, it had a rather creepy aura about it. Legend had it that during the witching hour, the deceased were able to rise from their graves and commit atrocities. Seeing as it was a minute to midnight, she really hoped the old legendary wives' tales weren't true.

 

Walking quickly through the eerily silent graveyard, Alice refused to let her thoughts drift; paranoid as she was, she didn't want something to happen when she didn't suspect it, supernatural or not.  The only sounds that lingered in the air were those of the crickets chirping creepily, and the leaves crunching rather loudly. She figured that it only sounded louder than usual because everything was deader than usual, resulting in silence.

 

Despite being alone, she felt a weird presence -- it felt as though she _wasn't_ alone. It was like something was lurking, just out of sight, watching her in silence. She stopped, the cemetery silent except for the crickets. There was no movement, aside from some leaves blowing in the wind. Resuming her pace, almost instantly her heel got caught in the muddy ground. Glancing down, her eyes widened, as she realized that her heel was stuck in something; it was grasped by _someone._

 

A rotting, bony hand reached out from a decrepit, unmarked grave. The dirt around the opening began to shift, and out popped a partially flesh-missing head, straggles of white hair clinging to the skull. The eyes were sunken, one rotting eye left deep in the left socket. A few teeth remained in the mouth, horrible gaps between those that had in which the half-disappeared tongue now poked through. The skin was a bluish-gray, rotting, and utterly terrifying.

 

Alice stared at the creature in disbelief. Her heart nearly stopped from fear, staring at horrific sight in the moonlight. She wanted to scream, she wanted to yell, she wanted to make some sort of noise and hope for help, but terror took the sound before she could make it. She wanted to run, to move, but despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins and her mind racing, she was paradoxically paralyzed to the core. The creature gazed up at her, its horrific gaze looking at her right in the eyes.

 

She was well and royally screwed.

 

More graves began to shift, and more hands pierced through the burial mounds. More bodies surfaced, and more and more reason for Alice to drop dead from fright appeared. An unnatural, low-hanging mist had begun to swirl about them, obscuring some of their movements. Alice could do nothing but watch, horrified, as the zombies closed in on her, shuffling towards her, a menagerie of nightmare fuel. Closing her eyes, she finally found it in her. She let out a blood-curdling scream.

 

Thudding sounds popped up all about her, and Alice collapsed to the ground, burying her face in her knees and muffling her scream. More thuds sounded, lingering in the air and Alice heard grunts of effort. Raising her head, she saw a sight she hadn't expected. The man who had saved her earlier was repeating his feat again, this time downing the undead as though they were mere paranormal puppets. Kicks and punches and throws resulted in body parts falling apart, holes being punched straight through their chests, heads being kicked off and sent flying. One such head flew through the air, rolling to a land near her. Its eye rolled in its head before focusing on hers.

 

She kicked it away, sending it scattering into a grave stone, crushing its skull in the process.

 

Alice got up, terror and adrenaline shaking her limbs, as she watched the man destroy the zombies with ease. Who was he, and why was he so powerful? Why was he so fearless? Where did he learn to face death like that, in a literal fashion?

 

The guy did a double spin kick, sending the torso separating from the waist with the first kick, and the unorthodoxly-decapitated head flying into another gravestone, where it exploded upon impact. The remaining portion of the zombie, from the waist down, staggered for a moment before falling backwards.

 

He turned his gaze on Alice, his eyes bewitching, as he held out a hand to her. She took it, cautious, gazing around at the dismembered zombie carnage all about her. Was it wise to take the hand of someone so powerful? Then again, he had saved her twice now...

 

"Are you alright?" His voice was deep, but had a calming quality to it. He was being gentle, she realized. It was an odd contrast, to how powerful and furious he had been moments before. His hand was also soft, unlike the creep with the top hat from before, whose hand had been calloused and rough. It was a comforting difference.

 

Alice nodded. 'Yes, I'm...I'm fine." She glanced around, gesturing to the body parts. "What _was_ that?"

 

His silver eyes held her gaze, a powerful look. "It's the witching hour. It's not wise for a woman to be outside at such a late hour, witching hour or not."

 

Alice bristled. "I can take care of myself."

 

"Perhaps, but it's not wise regardless. Though two events today seem to disagree with your estimation of your abilities."

 

Alice held her tongue from saying the worst things she could think of. She settled for, "I never asked for your help."

 

His gaze seemed to become even heavier than it normally was -- why was it so captivating? "You don't need to ask for my help for me to give it. It's what my father would've done."

 

"Father teaching son chivalry, is it? Bollocks. Chivalry is dead. Why're you following me?"

 

"You're interesting. Plus, you needed saving."

 

"What're you, my knight in shining armour?"

 

He shook his head. "No, I'm your knight in soaking armour."

 

She chuckled at that. He was clever, she couldn't deny him that. Her laugh stopped mid-breath when she saw a creature rise behind him, one that hadn't risen from its grave yet. He had taken care of the rest of them, she felt the need to protect him for once. Fumbling in her pocket, she fished out her small bottle of mace, the pepper spray being incredibly concentrated. Flipping off the cap, Alice pointed at the creature over his shoulder, and pressed the button.

 

A huge burst of pepper spray went airborne, far more than she had anticipated; it was the first time she had thought to use it. Unfortunately, the spray managed to blast all over the face of the man, and a generous amount managed to get in both of his eyes. Screaming in pain, the man doubled over, hands protectively cradling his eyes, rubbing vigorously with bottoms of his palms. This only served to get the pepper spray deeper into his eye, and caused him further agony. He dropped to his knees, one hand fumbling about for purchase before grasping onto a tombstone, the other hand rubbing vigorously at his eyes.

 

The zombie advanced, and Alice saw there was no choice left. Raising her fist, she drew it back before letting it fly, knocking the zombie's head straight off. It flew in a large arc, and tumbled out of sight into the darkness, hidden by the slowly-dissipating graveyard mist.

 

She rushed over to him, giving him a supportive hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged her off, cursing loudly. Alice tried to apologize, but he didn't seem to hear her. She knelt to steady him and help him up, but he stumbled, shoving her off him.

 

" _I'm deaf!"_ He shouted, waving about, trying to feel for her. " _I'm deaf, and now you've taken away my way of interacting with the world!"_

 

Instantly, Alice understood the gravity of the situation, and felt horrible. So that's why he hadn't responded to her thanks earlier, he hadn't heard them. But then how was he able to interact with people solely through sight?

 

Even when blinded, he seemed to know what she was thinking. " _I can read lips! That's how I understand you, but now I can't see anything."_

So that was it. Alice paused for a moment, before picking him up again. It would do no good to explain what she planned to do, he just needed to trust her. She grasped his hand holding onto the tombstone, and gave it a comforting squeeze. He got the message, and allowed himself to be picked up and she placed his arm around her shoulders and her other arm around his waist. Rising, she continued the trek towards her house.

 

Fifteen minutes later, they were inside her apartment, and he was placed down on the couch. His hands instantly began to feel about the surface, taking in the texture and shape of the object upon which he was sitting, to figure out what it was. Alice sat down in front of the computer by the door, researching counteractive agents to pepper spray. Some sites said that things like milk would be soothing to the skin, nullifying the itching and burning sensation. Other sites said there was no better counteractive agent than time.

 

"Bugger that," she said aloud, squinting at the screen. "I don't have time for time."

 

She fetched some breakfast milk and a cloth. Dampening the cloth with the milk, she pressed it to the man's face. He gasped, surprised at the sudden cool sensation, instinctively turning his head to the side to avoid it. His tightly shut eyes twitched, and he turned his face back to face her again, and she smiled. He was incredibly protective of his eyes, and foreign to outside touch, that much was clear. Touching his face tenderly with her free hand, she angled it up, bringing the damp milk-sodden cloth back, blotting his face gently with it. He sighed, this time in what seemed like relief, and she took courage in that, working more quickly and efficiently. It wasn't long before his eyelids and face weren't that patchy, blotchy red it had been twenty minutes ago. She sat there, sitting across from him, arms and legs crossed, passing time. The internet had said that the effects lasted about forty-five minutes, and forty seven had passed. She waited an extra three minutes before going up to him, tapping him on the eyelids, silently urging him to open them.

 

He hesitated for a moment before slowly opening his eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to regain his focused vision. His eyes were bloodshot and red, and his silver eyes seemed weak somehow, not at all in their usual commanding state. That was to be expected, however, seeing as she had inadvertently sprayed him in the eyes, arguably his most important sense, with her misaimed pepper spray.

 

He seemed to have regained his vision well enough to look at her, his silver eyes regaining their composure and commanding status. He blinked, however, confused.

 

"You changed."

 

She glanced down, eyeing her light blue sweatshirt hoodie and sweatpants. Her hair was now in a short ponytail. "You're observant, for someone who just had their eyes attacked by a horde of angry pepper particles."

 

He didn't seem to find that funny.

 

"Sorry," she said sheepishly, "Just trying to lighten the mood. Now, if I may ask, why were you following me?"

 

"I told you. You're interesting."

 

"Serial killers are interesting, and I somehow very much doubt you follow them."

 

He said nothing.

 

"You...don't actually follow serial killers, do you?"

 

"No."

 

"That's a relief. Why me?"

 

"You're important."

 

"To whom?"

 

"To me."

 

"Why?"

 

He paused. "Because you were important to her."

 

"...Her?"

 

"My sister. Cassie."

 

Alice gasped. "Cassie? You mean Cassandra Wulford?"

 

"The very same. She would've been twelve today."

 

"Wait, she died on her birthday?" Alice felt horrified. How fair could the universe be? How could God let such things happen, if He truly did exist? "That's horrible."

 

"No. It _was_ horrible, not is. It's over now." He glanced out the window. She shifted in her seat, feelings of guilt riling up in her again. She had buried those feelings behind an invisible wall, isolating it from her mind. The dam that kept all those feelings in check, however, burst open with this new revelation. Cassandra's birthday had been the day she had died. Her birth was on the anniversary of her death.

 

"Oh how cruel," she murmured. "How utterly cruel."

 

"Fate is cruel." His words startled her; she hadn't realized he'd turned his gaze back on her, and hadn't expected him to speak because he shouldn't have been able to know what she said if he hadn't been facing her.

 

"So that's why you saved me? Because I was important to her?"

 

He nodded, his gaze unflinching as his eyes held hers. "You were her favourite teacher. She shared everything with you, and she trusted you above all others. Cassie loved you to death." He seemed to realize his word choice, and snorted, annoyed with himself.

 

 _Cassie loved you to death._ Was that a subtle jab at her? Was he blaming her for Cassandra's death? No, she was just being paranoid. He also kept calling her Cassie. "She didn't like that, being called Cassie. She'd always tell everyone to call her Cassandra."

 

A ghost of a smile threatened to tug at the corners of his lips. "That's right. I was the only one allowed to call her such. She liked it when I called her that. It was my nickname for her."

 

She sat there, fingers fiddling as she avoided his gaze now. "About how she...how she died. She told me that you finally let her go home on her own, and I waited with her for an hour. No one showed up. I assumed her words to be true, but I offered to take her home myself. She declined, and you know how she could get." She smiled slightly, reminiscing. "She was a clever girl, no one could deny. Anyways, I'm...I'm sorry. I had no idea what would happen. I certainly never expected her to get...to get..."

 

"I understand. I don't blame you. The teacher she loved so much would've never knowingly put her in such danger, willfully or neglectfully. As for why no one showed up, I had intended to. However, a call from my mother brought me to the hospital instead. I suspect Cassie had manipulated our mother into calling me at that time, I don't know how, but I think that Cassie had something to do with it, probably to lend some authenticity to the claim she fed you. I intended to pick Cassie up after I was finished at the hospital, but I never got the chance.

 

"The police came to our house at 9:30 PM. One moment, I was looking out the window, wondering where she was, and the next, I felt it. I felt something within me go missing, and I knew she was gone. When I saw the police pull up from the window, it confirmed what I had suspected."

 

Tears leaked down Alice's face. "So she inadvertently ensured her own death. If only she had let someone take her home. She would still be here with us, she would still be happy and smiling and living life and having all that untapped potential." She looked out the window, towards the heavens. Her voice took an almost vindictive tone, nearly cracking when she next spoke. "She could've been celebrating her twelfth birthday today."

 

"You mustn't blame God. She is safe now, with Him. Life may not be fair, but that's what makes it life. It's not the same without her, but it's what we have to deal with. She's in a better place now, even if how she got there wasn't the best of ways. I miss her, but I mustn't mourn for her death. Instead, I opt to remember and celebrate her life. I'm sure Cassie would've preferred it that way."

 

Alice supposed he had a point. She was still questioning if, supposing a divine being existed, how it would let a little girl suffer such tragedies. She glanced at his silver eyes.

 

"What's your name?"

 

"Vladimir Wulford. I prefer Vlad."

 

"Alright, Vlad. I'm Alice."

 

"I know."

 

"Ah, yes. Cassandra would've told you. Why didn't her parents ever pick her up?"

 

"It's a long story."

 

"The night is young, and so are we."

 

He nodded. "My mother is a nurse. She's busy, almost all the time. My father was a cop, but he was injured on the job years ago. Took a bullet to the brain. As a result, he lies in a catatonic state in the hospital. My mother tends to him every day, but I don't have the heart to visit him in such a state. He doesn't even know about Cassandra's death. I only visited him once, to tell him. Mother was crying heartbreakingly, and I've never visited the hospital since. I can't stand to see both of them like that. I don't want to see them hurt."

 

Alice glanced down, twiddling her fingers. "My own parents weren't really there for me either. My father was neglectful, more interested in his business than his only daughter. My mother had to deal with the stress of being the wife of a successful businessman with political aspirations, and this resulted in her dabbling in drugs." She let out a soft, broken-hearted laugh. "She went straight for the hard drugs. Before she knew it, she was addicted to crack cocaine. Mother became a junkie, appearing in and out of the house and father simply desperately tried to prevent tabloids from making a mockery of him through mother's behaviour.

 

"My father finally had to put mother in a rehabilitation program, where she remains now. Father's come to dislike any sort of weakness, and pressured me into becoming "Daddy's Little Soldier", ensured to not embarrass him the way mother did. His strict regimen and controlling aspect resulted in my disliking his views on weakness being a bad thing; I considered it being aware of one's limitations. Subsequently, I decided to dedicate my life to helping out those who were considered 'weak' or 'disadvantaged'. That's how I wound up working for Blanche Nevile School for Deaf Children. And I'm glad I did, because I got to meet Cassandra there."

 

Vlad watched her intently throughout her entire confession. "It seems we're more alike than we had initially thought."

 

She looked away, eyes downcast. _What did he mean by that?_ "Cassandra was a great loss. I pity you, for losing such a wonderful sister."

 

Vlad rose suddenly, catching Alice by surprise. "I don't need your pity." His words were like steel, and they cut her more than she'd like to admit. She was taken aback by his sudden forcefulness, and she watched him stride towards the door.

 

"Wait!" Alice called, leaping from her chair and standing her ground. "Can I call you sometime?"

 

The commotion behind him had caused him to turn around in time to read her lips. After a moment's pause, the silence in the room nigh-unbearable, he simply said, "No."

 

He strode from the room, closing the door behind him with a slam. She wondered if he even cared, since he couldn't hear it. She rushed to the window, looking out onto the rainy street. He hailed a cab in, and gave one last glance to her window with his eerie, beautiful silver eyes, before sliding in and disappearing into the night. She watched the cab pull out and vanish into the darkness, the after image of the tail-lights being the last thing she saw.

 

She turned back to her sofa, where had sat moments before. An object on the bed caught her eye: a scrap of paper. Scribbled on it was a phone number. Three words were scrawled underneath it: _Text me sometime._  It was then she smacked her forehead, noting her ignorance.

 

"Stupid Alice. He's deaf, obviously he'd say I couldn't call him. He can't hear anything, what would be the point? Sometimes, I think you'd lose your head if it wasn't attached to your shoulders."

 

She added his number to her cellular device, texting him so he received her number, and then tossed it onto the sofa across from her, slumping back into her seat. She gazed out the rain-splattered, dreary window once more, listening to the pitter-patter of rain drops tapping against the window pane. She let the silence reign for a few minutes before breaking it.

 

"Happy birthday, Cassandra," she whispered, eyes fixed on the rain drops. She imagined them as all the young people who had died quick, untimely deaths, so many children who died before they could grow up or have families or leave some sort of impact on the world. Any one of them could've been the one to cure cancer, to foster international peace, to usher in knowledge and expel ignorance. All of them could've been great. All of them could've been like Cassandra. "Happy Twelfth Birthday."


	13. Yang 11: The Family Business

"Lorenzo! Lorenzo, get in here!"

 

Enzo followed the sound of his father's voice, wondering why he sounded so excited. Dashing through the front yard of his aunt's house, he ran as fast as he could, curiosity propelling him forward. Through the front door, past the foyer, and into the living room ran the boy, his eyes sparkling with the shared enthusiasm from his father's voice.

 

"Yes, Papa? What is it?" He didn't even know why he was excited, he just was.

 

"Enzo, today is a glorious day! You have to hear this! Where are your brother and sister?" His father glanced about, momentarily confused.

 

Enzo quirked an eyebrow. "You didn't call them, dad."

 

Confusion cleared up instantly from his father's face. "Ah, yes, you're right. Demetrius, Noelle, come here!" The stairs thundered with rapid steps, siblings racing down them to get to their father first. "Whoa, whoa, slow down!" Their father said, his dismayed face spectacularly contradicting his amused voice. "We're in your Aunt Rosabella's house, respect her property! We can't have her kicking us out, now can we? We wouldn't have anywhere to go."

 

Enzo stared at his father's face as he said this. His father took on a dark visage, a look that was rarely on his face. He knew he didn't like to talk about it, how his father was unable to provide for his children, but Enzo knew his dad loved them and that was all that mattered. Moments later, his dad's face cheered up, and the excitement took hold of Enzo once more as well.

 

 "What's the big news, papa?" Noelle asked, gazing up at her easily-excitable father. She was playing with one of her raven side locks, twirling it about her finger. She and Enzo's older brother, Demetrius, looked mildly interested at best.

 

Papa knelt before her, rolling up his dress-shirt sleeves and cupping her face in his hands as he grinned, shaking her lightly. "This is glorious, fantastic, magnificent! This is life-changing news! It means that life as we know it as going to change! Can you imagine it? How exciting!"

 

Enzo rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but smile. Papa usually did this, always oozing with child-like enthusiasm, but he knew that his father more often than not fell through with his claims. Sometimes, Enzo wondered if everything was alright in that mysterious, whirling mind of his. No one said anything for a few moments, and Enzo knew why.

 

"What _exactly_ is it?" he asked, feigning disinterest. "Just tell us already."

 

His father's grin grew even wider. "I've got a job!"

 

Noelle gasped, Demetrius' eyes widened, and Enzo said, "Whoa." Papa's eyes flickered to each of his children's faces, gauging their reaction. He could tell they were stunned.

 

"Papa, is this for real?" Noelle asked, her question abrasive and to the point. "You've said you've gotten a job a few times before, and those have hardly turned out favourable. I'm sure I'm not the only one who remembers the time y--"

 

Papa clasped his hand over her mouth, smiling brightly. "We promised we wouldn't mention that, didn't we, Noelle?" Noelle nodded, and her father released her mouth.

 

"I'm just saying," Noelle began, in that typical, annoying ten-year-old fashion, "You haven't exactly given us reason to believe this time should be any different."

 

"Oh, but it will." Papa's eyes gleamed with a soon-to-be-revealed secret. "Would you like to know why?"

 

"Not particularly," Demetrius murmured. A glance from his father made him keep his tongue, however. Enzo made to say he was interested, but he didn't get the chance.

 

"Well, I'm going to tell you anyways." Papa paused, for dramatic effect. "I am going to be...a _cop!"_

 

Enzo didn't see that one coming. "A cop?  But why? Isn't Nonno Giovanni a member of the _Arma dei Carabinieri_ , the military police? And don't you dislike him? Why would you want to become a cop?"

 

Papa's voice took on a sombre tone. "I don't dislike him, Lorenzo. I simply don't get along with my father." Demetrius' snort could almost be heard. "And regardless of whether or not your grandfather is a member of the _Carabinieri,_ the position is mine to hold _._ "

 

"But Papa," Noelle piped up, "Why did we suddenly lose all our wealth? We didn't have a care in the world when Mamma was alive, what happened? Did it have to do with you and Nonno Giovanni having a falling out? And how did you manage to get the position? Nonno Giovanni is the Chief of Staff, one of the three highest positions, right under _Comandante Generale,_ and the _Vice-Comandante Generale._ There's no way Nonno Giovanni would've allowed you to become hired."

 

"Never you mind how it happened, just be glad it did." Papa frowned, leaving it at that.

 

"So what does that mean for us?" Enzo asked, genuinely curious. It finally looked like their father would have a steady job. Things were looking up already.

 

"It means," a feminine voice intoned, causing them all to look towards the front door, "That I may yet get my house to myself."

 

"Zia Rosabella!" The children ran forward, embracing their aunt as she raised her shopping bags above her head so that the contents wouldn't be crushed.

 

"Whoa, calm down, kids. You wouldn't want to squish your presents, right? Or would you?" She chuckled, taking a step back to free herself from their clinging grasp. "You little monsters would probably break my house too, if you got the chance. I've got something for you too, Raphael."

 

The rest of her words were lost upon them the moment she uttered "presents". They swarmed her like a rabid pack of dogs, hands snatching and jumping. She tossed the presents above her, three paper shopping bags launched into the air as she stepped back. With a hand on her hip and an amused expression on her face, she let them claim their presents; they already knew which belonged to whom.

 

Demetrius swiped the large, black paper bag before it landed. Noelle mimicked the feat, snatching a royal blue one as swiftly as her older brother. Enzo nearly caught his, but he was tripped up by his younger sister, merely for her amusement. He fell to the ground with a thud, his present bag skittering across the floor.

 

"You shouldn't leave yourself open, Enzo," she giggled, watching as Rosabella and Raphael pick him up each by the shoulder.

 

"Noelle!" Raphael's tone was sharp. "Respect your older brother."

 

"Sorry," Noelle grinned kittenishly, her eyes twinkling mischievously. Enzo knew she didn't mean it.

 

"Right." Rosabella shrugged off her fashionable leather jacket as it slumped to ground. An image of an emerald green serpent with glittering rubies for eyes was emblazoned upon the back of it. She grinned, and placed a hand on the hip of her form-fitting, mini black dress.  Enzo claimed his present, and the three immediately began digging in the paper shopping bags. "For Demetrius, I don't think words are necessary."

 

Reaching into the bag, he pulled out a small, black box. Removing the lid, he pulled out a keychain. Dangling on the keychain was a key, and instantly he realized what his present was. Demetrius gasped, disbelieving. " _A motorcycle."_

 

 _"Your_ motorcycle. It's waiting outside for you. Along with the helmet. I'll take you out for a ride in a bit. As for your very own leather jacket..." She produced one from behind her back, handing it to the boy.

 

"There's no snake on it," he observed. He looked impressed, a small smile appearing on his face for once. His aunt knew him well.

 

"Sorry, you don't meet the qualifications for the group. Nothing personal." She gestured to Noelle. "Your turn. You'll find a bow and arrow, as well as a coupon redeemable for training at the local Archery Club, to kill your boredom in more interesting ways."

 

Sure enough, she pulled out a bow and a quiver of arrows from the bag. Noelle had the biggest grin on her face, and her eyes sparkled with the beginnings of a mischievous idea. "Thanks, Zia Rosabella. It's perfect!"

 

Rosabella ran a hand through her thick, glossy hair, amused with herself. "Of course it is. I picked it. Lorenzo, I'm sure you'll like yours."

 

Excitement coursing through him, Enzo ripped apart the package. From within the shabbily-wrapped parcel paper covering, he lifted a book from the bag: _Mysterious Myths_ by an author named Mankind. There was a fantastic illustration on the green cover, soaring creatures and crawling beasts. There were even a few tentacles displayed from the little lake in the corner. A bird was flying by the brilliant sun in the center at the top of the cover. Enzo's eyes glazed over. " _Whoa."_

 

"I know how much you like using your imagination, and I know you, like your siblings, haven't gotten much education due to your financial situation. So I thought, " _Why not let him learn something that engages the imagination?"_ , and immediately started looking about for the perfect book. It contains large sections of information about nearly every mythological beast: its country of origin, origin myth, attributes and related myths, and so on."

 

Enzo picked open the book, skimming through pages. "The font is tiny," he said, squinting at it.

 

"How else did you expect to have every myth explained in detail compounded into one book? At any rate, when I saw it at a Brazilian library, I thought you'd enjoy it."

 

"I do, _grazie mille_ , Zia Rosabella!" Enzo clutched the thin encyclopedia to his chest, glowing with pride over his new possession.

 

" _Di niente_ , my little nephew. Noelle, go test your new hobby out in the backyard. Demetrius, wait for me outside, we'll go for a ride in a bit. Lorenzo, go up to your room and study your book. I'll test you next time! I've got to speak with your father privately, now."

 

The children complied, dispersing in different directions; Demetrius towards the door, Noelle towards the expansive backyard, and Enzo towards the stairs and the second floor. Halfway up the stairs, he heard both the front and backdoors slam shut, and the hushed voices of his father and aunt in the living room. Curiosity getting the better of him, he snuck down to the base of the stairs, clinging to the bars as he knelt and strained his ears to hear them.

 

"...Why are you buying these things for my children? You know how I feel about flashy things, Rosabella, especially given the current situation I'm in."

 

"Don't be proud, Raphael. This isn't about you. It's about your children, my nephews and niece. Do you want your pride to get in the way of children's futures? You weren't this proud hours ago when I spoke to Father about you, getting him to agree to allow you your new position."

 

"...."

 

"Look at me, Raphael. _Look at me_. We're family. I'm here to help you, because you and Father are too pig-headed and stubborn to see each other's point of view."

 

"I see his point of view, Rosa, I just don't agree with it. I don't want that kind of life for my children."

 

"Which is exactly why you _must_ do it for your children. Live this life so they don't have to. Besides, I got your children those things because they need something to do all day aside from staring at the four walls and watching the most boring soap operas."

 

His father sighed. "I can't, Rosa, I can't. It will compromise my morals. How am I supposed to teach my children to be kind and respectful if their father is anything but? What would Desiree say?"

 

"Your wife would want you to provide for your kids, the way you're not doing so right now. She never got to see the darkest side of our family, even if she did see some of it." She paused, and Enzo wondered what was going on. "To be honest...I think Father had something to do with Desiree's death. I don't know why, I can't explain it, but I just have this gut feeling. He never did like her, as she wasn't a true-blood Italian like us, instead being American. I always thought that was a silly reason to dislike a person." She snorted. "You know how Father is."

 

"Which reason? Her being American, or her not being Italian?"

 

"Both."

 

Raphael seemed to mull that over for a few moments. "You suspect Father had a hand in it? The vehicle she was in was utterly totalled. Desiree was just a charred, unrecognizable remnant of herself...she was so beautiful, so lovely, and then she became...became.... _that_..."

 

Enzo thought he heard his father's voice break. Small, thudding sounds...was his aunt patting his father's back?

 

"Calm yourself, Raph. It is unbecoming of a Retaliano to cry. Be strong, for your children."

 

"Tears are not a sign of weakness, Rosa. It's a sign of being too strong for too long."

 

"Be that as it may, your children are not liable to see it that way. Put on a front for them, a facade if need be, but do not show weakness. That was something Father always instilled in us. Desiree would've agreed, you know it to be true."

 

"I try, Rosa, I try! Whenever I'm with them, I'm always smiling, always happy, always pleasant. They bring about that change in me. They make me forget the pain of losing Desiree for moments at a time. But then I look at them, see her face in theirs, her startlingly blue eyes in theirs. And then I feel it again, feel her stare, her loss. Sometimes, not even their presence can heal my heart, love them as I do. Have you seen their eyes, Rosa? All three pairs of theirs, all that same shade of blue as Desiree's, all just as unsettling and piercing as hers. She could see straight through me, into my thoughts, into my soul. They all have those same, beautiful blue eyes." He chuckled brokenly. "I'm glad they didn't inherit my brown ones."

 

"I've seen them. I've seen hers." Her voice seemed to indicate she was smiling. "They're identical."

 

Lorenzo inched forward, stealthily creeping closer with his back pressed to the wall, tilting his head slightly to glance at the scene before him. Rosabella sat with her legs crossed, a supportive hand on Raphael's back. Raphael himself was hunched over, head in his hands, fingers curled in his raven hair. His father was talking.

 

"I don't know how much longer I can hide the truth from them, Rosa. They're smart kids, they'll find out sooner or later. Demetrius is already cold and distant towards me, and I fear Noelle may go the same way. She displays such callous behaviour, I question whether she behaves more like Father than either Desiree or I. I don't know about Lorenzo -- he could be a wild card, but I feel as though he's my rock. He's what keeps me anchored, what keeps me going. I don't know how things will change, but things _will_ change, and I don't know how I'll handle them. I've already got enough change in my life when Desiree died, and now Father refuses to give me my portion of the inheritance." He sounded almost bitter. "Blood means nothing to him. His concept of a "family" is anyone who obeys him unhesitatingly, without question. I wasn't going to do that blindly. Nor should you, Rosa."

 

Rosabella paused, her head tilting slightly to the left, moving by the slightest margin. Enzo froze -- did she see him? No, she couldn't have, her eyes were nowhere near him. A moment later, her head turned back to the original position. The movement was so miniscule, Enzo had to wonder if it had even occurred.

 

Rosabella gazed at her brother, smiling cryptically. "I've got my own ends to achieve, Raph. I'm not following Father blindly, I assure you.  Nor did he send me here to convince you, if you were thinking that."

 

"I don't know what to think. But your words have seemed to point in that general direction."

 

Rosabella laughed, readjusting in her seat so that she was facing Raphael full on, her back now completely turned to Lorenzo. "I suppose they may have been. I'm just trying to fix this broken family unit, but to do that, I'll need to get you two to cooperate. And between you two, incredibly resilient as you may be, you're more likely to change your stance. You know Father as well as I. He isn't one to admit his wrongs, nor is he willing to be the bigger man."

 

She reached forward, placing a hand on his knee, causing him to look up at her. Their brown eyes, so very like each other, held contact as Rosabella spoke firmly. "I implore you for your children, Raphael, forgive Father, but apologize to him. Set aside your pride so that your children do not have to suffer."

 

"My children will suffer anyways. Just as you and I know Father, you know the world he belongs to just as I do. I need not sacrifice my beliefs and the possibility of happiness in my children's futures for an omnicidal, ass-backwards, ax-crazy, miserable excuse for a parental figure." He tossed a glance towards his sister. "No offense."

 

Rosabella smiled amusedly. "Do I look like our Father? You owe me no apology. I should be sorry."

 

Raphael looked puzzled. "What for?"

 

"For the future. Dangerous times lay ahead."

 

"Nonsense. You have no control over the future, no one does."

 

Rosabella remained silent. Raphael kept his silence as well. Minutes passed.

 

"Do you remember?" Raphael asked wistfully, eyes trained on his daughter dashing about and fetching arrows she had launched in the backyard. "When we were kids, and everything was simple? Father was loving, or at least seemed to be, and he always had the answers to everything? When we had no thoughts or cares and the biggest worries we had was wondering what Mother would make for dinner, and if it was suitably _delizioso_? When Mother was alive, and Father wasn't such a complete monster, and was actually a family-oriented man? Sure, he was busy a lot of the time, but when it came down to it, he made time for us. He taught us how to fish and hunt and catch a ball, everything. He was there for us. And then Mother died." He paused, looking off into the distance. He didn't even seem to be watching his daughter anymore, but looking beyond -- almost as if he was looking into the past.

 

"That changed Father immensely. He no longer had time. He buried himself in his work, and sought to compensate the loss of Mother with status and power and a respected and feared reputation. I understand now that maybe, just maybe, he was doing that so he would be more than able to provide for us and give us no cause to worry. I once thought that was the case. I thought he didn't want us to suffer anymore after Mother died due to that damned Scarab Sickness. But, looking at Father now, I don't know if the sort of man he was then would've ever deviated into something so abominable. I question if he wanted our safety and comfort, the well-being of his own children, or if he just didn't want to deal with us anymore. Nonna Lia took over the role of the mother, raising us without input or interference from Father." He lapsed into another silence, sighing. "I lost Father. I lost Mother. I lost Luka, my firstborn." Turning to look his sister straight in the eye, he squeezed her hand. "I don't want to lose you too."

 

Rosabella smiled quizzically, eyes twinkling with slight mirth. "Me? Why would you lose me?"

 

"We both know what you are. We know that your line of work is dangerous. But it's a part of you, I understand. Sometimes, I wish the burden fell to me, to spare my sister such a fate. But I can only watch from the sidelines, helpless, as you cross paths with danger time and time again." His voice took on a wavery quality. "Why am I so useless? I couldn't stop Mother's death. I couldn't stop Desiree's death. I can't even provide for my children. What kind of father can't do that? What kind of man can't protect those he cares for?"

 

Rosabella squeezed her younger brother's hand. "Raphael, look at me. You are not a failure. You couldn't have done anything to save Mother. You were but a boy. Father was unable to do anything about it, rich and powerful as he was. What makes you think you would've been any different? Desiree's death was also out of your reach. You failed through no fault of your own. Do not question what could've been. Accept what happened, and learn to live with it. That is the best you can do. No one can take that away from you, not even Father." She patted his back comfortingly, soothing his silent tears. "As for me, I don't plan on dying anytime soon. I've yet to have any kids of my own, and I'll be damned if I don't get to meet any grand-nephews and grand-nieces when your kids are ready." She nudged him with her elbow, smiling. "Perhaps it's time we got Demetrius married off and get a jump start on this dream of mine, eh?"

 

Raphael glared at her, sniffing as he wiped away his tears. "Absolutely not, he's too young. He has to be much older."

 

Rosabella's smile seemed to grow a fraction wider. "You weren't."

 

"I don't want him repeating my mistakes. He's too young, I don't want him struggling."

 

"If you don't want him struggling, then make up with Father. It's the quickest way to secure your children's futures."

 

"With that blood money? I'll have no part in it. Besides, I don't think I can. It's too hard."

 

"Well, I never said it was the _easiest_ method." She rose, smoothing out the folds of her black dress, striding across the room. Picking up her viper-emblazoned jacket, she spoke to her brother with her back turned, shrugging into the garment.

 

"In regards to our childhood, I agree. It was an easy time, even if it wasn't for Father. As for Desiree, I don't believe her death was an accident. It reeks of being a job. I promised you a gift; here it is: As opposed to Desiree, whose death I can only suspect being intentional, I'm one-hundred-percent certain that Mother's death was no accident."

 

" _What?"_ Raphael shot up from his seat, staring at the back of his sister's head. "You think it was murder, in addition to Desiree's?"

 

"I don't think it's murder, Raph. I _know_ it is. I've got a lead, so I'll be doing a follow-up investigation. Needless to say, I will figure out how Mother was killed, and I will exact a rather merciless revenge once I find out who did it." She buttoned up her jacket while speaking, brushing her hair back with both hands and turning to face her brother. "I'll keep in touch. You have full access to my accounts and funds. Worry not, it's not Father's blood money." She smiled once more, a sly one underlining her words. "At least not most of it."

 

Raphael scowled as his older sister sauntered out of the room. Enzo froze in place, unable to hide as she strode right past him. Reaching the door, she pulled it out, and turning towards the staircase. However, her eyes were locked right on him as she called out. "Lorenzo, come close the door!"

 

Slowly, Enzo shuffled forward. She pointed up the stairs, and he got the message. Climbing to the top, he thundered down the stairs, giving the impression he'd been in his room the entire time. Rosabella nodded, before shouting, "Hey, not so fast! You'll kill yourself!" As Enzo approached, his aunt leaned forward, her voice a light whisper.

 

"You might want to be more subtle about how you eavesdrop on important conversations. If you're going to do it, Enzo, at least be clever about it. That curiosity of yours might get you killed one day if you’re not careful." She ruffled his hair, smiling broadly as she turned and exited her house, questioning to an impatient Demetrius if he was ready to go for a ride. Enzo watched for a moment before closing the door, questioning just what kind of woman his aunt was, and noting she was one hell of a cool adult.


	14. Yin 12: Duty, Sacrifice, Loyalty

What a glorious sight the Five Sacred Mountains of China were.

 

The quintet continued onwards with their trek, moving beneath the blazing glare of the sun. Takamura led the group, as calm and graceful as ever, her golden kimono billowing majestically in the stiff breeze. Her hair was down, gliding behind her, the kiseru lit once more and grasped between her teeth. Her hands were lost beneath the folds of her joined sleeves. Haruhiko followed, grumbling inaudibly under his breath, and Kyo caught snippets of his nigh-silent tirade: phrases like _"retired old man"_ and _"suicide mission"_ and _"must have a death wish"_ were more audible than the rest. Kyo was beginning to think the irritable old man complained simply for the sake of it.

 

Following the Dragon of Death was the Dragon of Life, Felipe. Kyo couldn't help but thinking about their titles, and the symbolism of 'life' following 'death'. Maybe he was just reading into things that weren't there, but he thought it was pretty cool. The Puerto Rican man seemed to be lost in thought, gazing skyward as he followed those before him. Kyo's eyes flickered to the second to last person in the line, Sonic. His blond hair stirred surprisingly lightly with the persistent wind the group trudged against; perhaps it was because it wasn’t long enough to do so. His hands were in his pockets, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as usual, and his black sunglasses, usually nestled in his hair, rested on the bridge of his nose.

 

Sonic turned back to glance at the youngest companion, eyes hidden behind his shades. He smiled apologetically, noticing quickly how difficult it was for Kyo to breathe. The air had thinned out considerably as they rose in elevation, and the oxygen with it. "Please try to bear with it, Kyo-san," he said, as polite as ever. " _Gomen nasai_. I wish there was something I could do to help you out." Kyo was gasping quietly for breath, and Sonic knew it couldn't have been easy on him. "You get used to it. Believe it or not, Haruhiko-sama, Takamura-sama, and Felipe-sama weren't able to travel here as easily as they can now years ago.

 

Kyo had to admit, he thought it was rather odd for a non-Japanese man to speak phrases from his native language. At the same time, however, he considered it a polite and interested attempt to learn about Japanese culture. Kyo knew he was able to speak so fluently because, as Haruhiko's assistant for years, as well as living in Japan, he had been required to; he had told him as much when they had been talking a day ago after Takamura had asked him to leave. Trying to ignore his difficulty breathing, Kyo thought he could escape in his thoughts, as Felipe seem to have done.

 

***

 

Kyo huffed, shuffling dispiritedly out of the bar. Sonic appeared at the door moments later, exiting the tavern to keep him company. Kyo glanced about: empty wine bottles, plastic bags floating about in the deserted alleyway, gritty walls and a maze of dead ends. All in all, a seedy alleyway for a seedy tavern. _'_ _How fitting_ , _'_ he thought irritably.

 

He slumped against the wall facing the door they had just exited, glaring at it in annoyance. Sonic chose to stand beside the door, so as to let Kyo face him. He had his hands in his pockets, one foot against the wall for support and a demure smile on his handsome face.

 

"You'll have to forgive them, Kyo-san. They are dealing with sensitive topics, ones that I very much doubt you're ready to hear. Some things are best not leaked, nor overheard.

 

"Then why a bar?" he asked, incredulous at Sonic's explanation of the Dragons' behaviour. "It's filled with people, surely someone would overhear?"

 

Sonic chuckled. "Only if it's quiet. At first glance, a bar would be the last place one would think to discuss matters of importance. After all, there are those of questionable character who tend to gather in such places. But upon closer scrutiny, one realizes that a bar is perhaps safe for the very reason many think it unsafe." Kyo looked nonplussed, and Sonic continued, clearing up his point further. "A bar is filled with people, and as such, loud. They're unlikely to be overheard, with so much chatter buzzing about. The same could not be said in a solitary location, where the quiet atmosphere would serve to betray their secret conference much more easily."

 

"Oh," Kyo said, realizing the wisdom of his logic. "I hadn't thought about it like that, but it makes a ton of sense."

 

"Most people don't look past the first glance." Sonic turned his head skyward, gazing at the shimmering stars. "And it's because of this mentality that they miss out on beauty beneath the surface. Some things need a second glance to be truly appreciated. And that's a testament to its beauty, isn't it? So stunning that it made you do a double take and look back to appreciate it once more."

 

Kyo looked up at the sky as well. Now that he thought about it, he rarely looked up at the sky to appreciate it. He used to, back when he was a child. His father had left them at a young age, so early that Kyo couldn't even remember his face. He had had to look at photos of his father, and force himself to memorize and recognize him from that. Sometimes, he questioned if that man even was his father, but he couldn't exactly contest it.

 

He often questioned what made his father leave them; why his father no longer wished to interact or contact his family. Had it been Kyo's fault? Had his birth been too much for his father? Everything was alright when his older brother Kenji was born, his father was still with his brother and mother. Kyo had been born a few years after, and soon after his father had deserted them.

 

Sometimes, when he was all alone with just his thoughts, Kyo resented himself. He was convinced, certain beyond a doubt, that his arrival into the family had been the ultimate factor in his father's desertion. Simply by virtue of being born, Kyo had deprived his brother and mother of the most important man in their life, and the chance to keep that man in their life. Perhaps his father had thought he could handle a wife and a son, but not a second child. Not a second son, apparently, and Kyo sometimes wondered if it had been different. Would his father had left him just as simply as he had if Kyo had been a female? Was his gender in any way a factor in his father's desertion? Had he been expecting a daughter, content with a single son, and left when he had turned up instead? Or was his entire existence, regardless of gender, the problem?

 

Try as he might, Kyo couldn't help but feel some resentment towards his father. As much as he loathed himself, he equally loathed his father. Why hadn't his father been a man and taken responsibility for his children? Why hadn't he just stayed, owning up to his responsibility as the father? Why had he deprived his son of the chance of meeting him, knowing him, of recognizing his face without having to refer to pictures as the only method of confirmation? What kind of man abandoned his family, his wife, his sons? He hadn't abandoned his mother when Kenji had been born, so why had he done so for Kyo? And so the cycle of hatred began, for both Kyo himself and his thoughts on his father.

 

He remembered why he hadn't stared at the sky as he had done years ago. Back then, young as he was, he still harboured some misguided belief that his father would return to him. Hadn't his father been curious to see what his son was like, to meet him? Wasn't he as curious about his son as Kyo was about him? Kyo's mother would take Kenji and him out at night, to a small meadow with a clear view of the sky, pointing at different stars and exclaiming the histories behind each.

 

"Those stars have a special legend associated with them," she would say, pointing at specific stars. "Come here, Kenji, Kyo, look where I am pointing. You see those there?" She pointed to two stars, one white and the other red. "Those stars are the Genji Boshi and the Heike Boshi. These stars were named after two clans, the Minamoto clan and the Taira clan.  The Minamoto were also known as the Genji, and the Taira were also known as the Heike.

 

"For decades, the Minamoto and Taira clans had conflict, both attempting to dominate the other and be in the good graces of the Imperial court. Ultimately, their feud culminated in what is now referred to as the Genpei war. The Taira fought under banners of red, and the Minamoto battled under banners of white, for those were the traditional family colours associated with each clan. The peaceful and artistic Heian era was finally brought to a close with an outbreak of war between the two clans.

 

"Blood and betrayal had been suffered by both sides. In the end, it was the Minamoto clan that stood victorious in a decisive win. However, despite the actions of some, both sides had displayed an extraordinary amount of bravery and loyalty, and thus the colours of red and white came to have a special significance in Japan, even to this day. Do you not see those very colours on our flag? Duty, sacrifice, and loyalty. Red for the Taira and white for the Minamoto, displaying such basic values that even the heavens will attest to such bravery, blazing brightly in the sky for all to see."

 

As a child, Kyo had looked upon those stars, the Genji Boshi and Heike Boshi, and remembered what they stood for: _duty, sacrifice, loyalty._ He was certain that his father would come back, that his father would recognize his children and wife as his duty, those that he owed his loyalty to, those whom he would sacrifice for. Yet that never came to be.

 

He had long since stopped looking at the stars, chiding himself on being foolish enough to believe in such a childish dream. He was a man himself now, nearly twenty, and had no need of a father. His mother had done a fine enough job without her husband, and Kyo saw no reason that he should stroll into his life now. For all he knew, his father could be dead.

 

Even though he didn't believe in the Genji Boshi and Heike Boshi stars symbolizing duty, sacrifice and loyalty, sometimes he couldn't help but glance up at the sky and question what if. What if his father had stayed, what if his father returned, what if there was a real, legitimate, concrete and logically-sound reason for why he abandoned his family? Kyo didn't know if such a reason could exist, but sometimes he half-hoped it was, and that his father would come back into his life. He wanted to see his father with his own eyes, to look at his face and into his father's eyes, and see from whence he had come.

 

His thoughts shifted to his ex-girlfriend, Kikyou. He had been trying to forget her, to get over her and get his heart back together again, but his unrelenting thoughts about her in the dead of the night seemed hell-bent on throwing a wrench in that plan. Kyo would stay up late into the night, his thoughts alternating between Kikyou’s breaking up with him and Hatsumomo’s kidnapping. He would feel bad that he was obsessing over Kikyou’s behaviour, something that was inexplicable to him, when he should’ve been worrying about Hatsumomo’s safety. He hadn’t known her for too long, but already he missed her terribly; what kind of girl was she to have such a deep impact on him so quickly? He found himself sometimes smiling to himself at the brashness and disregard for social expectations that Hatsumomo had. It was almost as if she knew her behaviour was crude and unconventional, especially in regards to sharing a room with a man at night, but she didn’t care. He could almost hear her voice calling out to him, teasingly calling him “Kyo-kun~” and giggling her coy amusement.

 

Each time he gazed at the sky, however, it was a depressing reminder of the reality of things: his father left him, left Kenji, left their mother, and never bothered to contact or explain. His father had abandoned him, and so, too, should Kyo abandon any hopes of seeing or meeting him for the first time.

 

He told himself it didn't matter, however. He had his mother. He had Kenji. Kenji showed him how to be a man, and his mother told him how to treat women and respect them properly. He had managed to survive without the father that never cared, the father that never did a single thing for him aside from bring him into this world and leave him to question his existence. Kyo did it more often than he'd have liked to admit.

 

He turned his gaze downwards, disenchanted with the heavens, instead opting to study the man before him. Sonic was still gazing towards the heavens, a small smile on his face, seemingly brimming with some secret only he knew. Sonic wasn't that much older than Kyo, perhaps four or five years older than him at the maximum, and he was curious about why and how Sonic came to work under Haruhiko. He waited, wondering if the older man would glance down at him and question his silence, but no such luck. Sonic seemed to be absorbed in watching the heavens.

 

"If you've got a question, I'd be happy to answer." Kyo was startled; he hadn't realized that Sonic was aware of his studying of him, and he hadn't even taken his gaze off the star-lit night sky.

 

"I-I was just curious...how are you acquainted with Haruhiko-san?"

 

"Haruhiko- _sama_ ," Sonic corrected gently, gaze still skyward, "and I aren't really acquaintances, I would venture to say. I've known him for several years, ever since I was a child, far younger than you."

 

"Gomen. How did you get to know Haruhiko-sama?"

 

"In a rather unfortunate series of events, he found me." His voice became light, reminiscent. His mesmerizing, turquoise eyes seemed to flick amongst the stars, never focusing upon one for too long. "My mother and father took me on vacation to Japan. We had been saving up for a long time; we weren't exactly well off, you see. It took years of planning and saving, years that stretched out before even my birth, but one day they had saved enough.

 

"I had never had a vacation in my life, and nor had my parents. This was a very exciting, well-earned, looked-forward-to trip that my parents had assured me would be "life-changing!" As any child, of course, I was incredibly excited by the prospect of going on vacation. My parents had already chosen a destination long before I was born. They had always been interested in Japanese culture and mythology, you see, and this had influenced my mother's career as a high school teacher, instructing the students in Japanese. My father was an aspiring chef, but for the moment, he worked in kitchens as a dishwasher. He had dreams of becoming a line cook, and then eventually a chef, owner of his own restaurant. He was also interested in Japanese cuisine."

 

He paused then, his brilliant blue eyes simply staring at a single star this time.

 

"We had just arrived at the Tokyo, departing from the Haneda Airport. Night had fallen, clouds not visible, stars shining brightly, breeze blowing softly, a night very much like this one. My mother served as our translator, looking for a hotel we could spend the night at before a day full of sight-seeing and cuisine-sampling. My father especially looked forward to the planned cuisine trips we'd take the next day, after we'd had a lost rest and recuperated from jet lag. Being so young, I was bursting full of energy constantly anyways, so I believe that had some sort of hand in keeping the jet lag to a minimum, if at all.

 

"We soon found a hotel, and checked in. My parents went to put our luggage up in our room, but I slipped away and went sight-seeing. Impatient, as any child of my age would've been, I snuck out past the front desk and into the night, glancing about streets. There were some vendors open, and I had thought that I could get to know what delicacies Japan had to offer. Some of the vendors sold street food including ramen noodles, udon, and my personal favourite of yakitori."

 

Kyo felt his stomach grumbled. The mention of Sonic's favourite of grilled chicken on sticks made him uncomfortably aware of how hungry he was. Sonic chuckled. "I'm sure we can find grilled chicken somewhere in Sicily. Come on, my treat."

 

A quarter of an hour later found them at a nice Italian restaurant, where grilled chicken just so happened to be on the menu; Sonic ordered some plain, thin skewer sticks as well. They had chosen a booth, with a window looking out onto a clear view of the sky. Kyo dug in as soon as his plate arrived, and Sonic simultaneously resumed his gaze at the heavens and his story.

 

"As I was saying, I had been scoping out the vendors, and trying to secure some free samples so I'd know what was good enough to show to my father the next day. Most of them shooed me away, annoyed at my inability to understand their language and, more importantly, the fact that I was broke. By that time, I was legitimately hungry, and wondering whether or not I should head back to the hotel. I was about to head back, when I saw an elderly vendor gesture for me to come over. Curious, I obeyed, and he greeted me with a smile, and handed me a couple of yakitori sticks. I was confused, wondering if he expected me to pay, but he seemed to know what I was thinking and shook his head, smiling politely.

 

"Grateful for his generosity, I ate enthusiastically, chomping gleefully on the grilled chicken." A faint smile came to Sonic's face, as he recounted his tale, resting his chin on his palm, fingers curled. "He said nothing to me, and I said nothing to him. We may have been separated by a language barrier, but we were also bonded by his act of generosity and humane kindness. Most of the other vendors turned me down without so much as a second glance, but that yakitori vendor accepted me with a warm smile and even warmer food. I remember feeling very grateful, very happy that such kindness was possible."

 

Sonic picked up one of the make-shift yakitori sticks on Kyo's plate, eating it leisurely as his eyes stared off into the heavens, into the past. Once finished, he once more placed his chin upon his finger-curled palm, staring out towards the brilliant night sky.

 

"It was then I decided I'd best go back to the hotel. I had memorized the way back, as my memory has always been quite superb, even at such a young age. Before I could, however, I accidentally bumped into a white-suited man, his jacket worn like a coat hanging off his shoulders. His black tie had a white skull motif on it, and instantly I knew this man was dangerous. Glancing about, almost all the vendors instantly closed up shop, and drew their blinds and locked their doors. All of them, that is, except the yakitori vendor who had given me the chicken for free. He simply looked on, his friendly smile still on his face.

 

"I wondered who this man was to be able to smile at such a dangerous man unashamedly; why hadn't he hidden and closed up his shop like the rest of them? In hindsight, I consider that a stupid question. I should've realized this man was different the moment he, unlike the others, displayed some kindness and gave me something to eat when I was hungry. There was something special about him. He was different from the rest, for the better.

 

"My parents arrived then, relief on their face, racing towards me. My mother hugged me, nearly in tears, terrified at all that could have happened to me when I wasn't in her sight. She was the type to smother their children, and I always found it odd how she could be upset at what could have happened even when she knew that they hadn't. She worried too much, but I suppose that's what mothers were for, and it meant they cared. I should've given her worry some more appreciation, especially for her care of me while I still had the chance."

 

Kyo had a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do the yakitori he had just eaten.

 

"I would later learn that the man I had bumped into was a Yakuza member. The Yakuza like to call themselves _ninkyo dantai_.”

 

“Chivalrous organizations,” Kyo supplied. That title was hardly fitting; he felt the hot grip of anger, furious at the Yakuza for Hatsumomo’s kidnapping.

 

Sonic nodded. “Often, their actions are anything but chivalrous. Some say chivalry is dead; it certainly is to the Yakuza. His name was Ryuusuke. At the time, I had no idea what he was talking about, as I did not understand Japanese; only my mother, Ryuusuke, and the yakitori vendor were able to have that conversation. I was able to memorize the words I had heard, however, and only much later would I be able to recreate the conversation and understand what had happened that night. He made a fuss about how I had scuffed his shoes, which were as white as they could've been; there was no indication of any damage to his pristine dress shoes. Nevertheless, Ryuusuke felt the need to demand compensation, a cruel leer on his sinister face.

 

"His compensation was nothing short of demonic. For the inexcusable act of supposedly damaging his shoes, I was to be punished. His foot snaked out, catching me under the jaw and quickly again in the stomach. He glanced down at me as I flew across the street, hands in his pockets and that leer still present on his face. My father was instantly at my side, cradling me in his arms. My mother ran forward, placing her hands far out to the sides, fingers splayed out, barring Ryuusuke's path to me. She was shouting at him in Japanese, questioning who he thought he was to attack her child like that, and that she would never forgive him for his heartless behaviour. She went on to say that she thought the Japanese should be better than that, and that his actions went against such basic Japanese values like duty, sacrifice, and loyalty. It was his duty to be kind and welcoming, especially to foreigners, and throughout her entire reprimand of him, he laughed. He just stood there, chuckling loudly, no doubt thinking her to be a foolish woman.

 

"'Who am _I_?'" Ryuusuke had asked, his eyes widening in tandem with his jeering grin. "'Who are _you_ to speak Japanese? You know nothing of our culture, our language, our customs. You have no place here. Who am I? That is not for you to question. But nevertheless, _gaijin_ , I will answer your question.' My mother had narrowed her eyes at him defiantly, displeased with his insulting her being a foreigner. 'I am Ryuusuke, The Dragon Usurper, and I shall have that which I demand. What should I claim? Should I make you my concubine? A _gaijin_ to please me, amongst all the other native women here? Maybe I should have your husband drowned slowly and torturously, leaving you with no choice but to watch him gasp piteously for his last breath?' His eyes had narrowed maliciously, staring daggers at my horrified mother before him. ' _Or perhaps I should kill your child before your disgustingly wide eyes, gaijin? Would you like to see your child die, piece by piece, and fed to you like yakitori? Perhaps that would teach you gaijin respect?_ '"

 

Kyo coughed on his yakitori, spitting it up. Sonic gazed at him for a moment, still smiling, and said, "Oh no, don't worry, that didn't happen, obviously, as you can see that I'm still right here. Go ahead and finish your yakitori."

 

He nodded, coughing to clear his throat of the little piece of yakitori he had almost choked on. "What happened next?" he asked, voice raspy from the choking.

 

"My mother was scared beyond her wits. ' _No!'_ she screamed, her shriek ripping through the night. Despite that, not a single person came to help her; they knew that after hours was the Yakuza's time to walk the streets. Ryuusuke responded by lifting his white, leather clad foot and striking out, hitting my mother at the base of her lower left jaw. With the momentum of his leg, her head was forced to turn to the upper right, unable to stop herself. A sharp crack resulted, and mother slumped to the ground. Ryuusuke simply glared down at her, wicked grin twisting his features, hissing, 'Don't raise your voice to me, _gaijin._ '

 

"Even more than mother had been, I was scared beyond belief. I hadn't exactly mastered the control of my bladder yet, as well, since I was just a young little boy. You can imagine what happened, as I stared disbelievingly at my mother, slumped on the ground as she was, unresponsive. I shrugged off my father's embrace, for he was shaken to the core with surprise at what had transpired to his wife. I ran to mother, shaking her by the shoulders. At first, I thought her jaw was broken. But when I placed my hand on her cheek, to make her face me, her head slumped independently over her neck. Even at that tender age, I knew. She was dead."

 

Sonic paused for a moment, his gaze holding firm onto Kyo's eyes this time. "Father knew she was dead too. Ryuusuke felt no remorse, aside from lamenting that he could no longer use the _’gaijin’_ as a concubine, also remarking that he did know a man who was into the darker aspects of sex. He was referring to necrophilia."

 

Kyo felt instantly disgusted. He held his tongue, eyes flickering between Sonic's turquoise ones to see if he could detect any change. Sonic's smile still held firm on his face, leaving Kyo thoroughly nonplussed.

 

"I didn't know what to do. Tears came of their own volition, and I recall feeling an overwhelming amount of sadness before it disappeared. I just felt...numb. I suppose it was my mind's way of sparing myself such incredible hurt. The man who owned the yakitori shop remained smiling, but in his eyes blazed a fury. I had never seen someone so angry, especially when their anger was expressed solely through their gaze.

 

"'Ryuu-chan, you pig-headed child. What reason have you to attack the woman? What reason have you to harm the child? What reason have you to take away that man's wife and that child's mother? What made you like this?'"

 

Ryuusuke sneered at the man. "'The world, Dai-jii. The world made me like this. The Yakuza made me like this. Ever since that damned Hitoshi Matsumoto took my own parents from me. What reason have I to care for others' parents when I lost mine to a Yakuza thug? Why must I suffer alone?'" His leer widened to impossible standards. "'That's a trick question, Daisuke-san. I mustn't.' He tilted his head, and looked towards me, and I met his gaze, paralyzed with fear to the spot. This was not the gaze of a man. It was the gaze of a monster."

 

Kyo felt fear grip him as well, but he kept silent to let Sonic continue the story on his own terms.

 

"Old man Daisuke wasn't having it. _'Then you should know best why you should not do the same!'_ Daisuke-jii burst out, his temperament flaring fiercely for a brief moment, before he reigned in his anger. 'You know the hurt felt by those who lose their parents, the pain that is caused by a murdering Yakuza thug! Did I not raise you better than that, when you were but a boy, wandering the streets covered in the blood of your parents? Did I not feed and shelter you, as miserable a sight as you were, because you had nothing to eat, nowhere else to go? Did I not show you compassion and kindness, and raise you as though you were my own, the son I received from the gods to alleviate the sense of loss from my own son Taichi's death? Did I not give you everything you needed, and treat you with kindness and fairness? And yet you see fit to perpetuate the cycle that that damned Hitoshi Matsumoto had started? How big a fool must you be to not learn from your mistakes?

 

"'The pain you felt, you think it makes you _special_? You think it makes you unable to be understood by the world, unable to have anyone realize the burden you're carrying? Did I not realize it, and take you in despite you being an utter stranger to me? That pain does not make you special, Ryuu-chan. Being able to withstand it, and not succumb to it is what would have made you special. But you failed miserably, my son, and served only to further your own hate onto an innocent boy's family. He will have to live with the fact that he can no longer return to his mother, that she is no longer amongst the living, unable to provide comfort or support or love. All because of your anger, your problems, your hatred. Is this the sweet and sorrowful boy I raised? Is this the man he became? I can only blame myself, Ryuu-chan, for your behaviour. I should've give you more attention, more love, more of a supportive shoulder.' Daisuke-jii had calmed down then, his voice becoming rather solemn and quiet. 'Perhaps then you wouldn't have walked down this dark and dangerous path. Even now, I fear for your safety, for Hitoshi Matsumoto is the most dangerous man in all of Asia.'

 

"Ryuusuke seemed oddly silent during Daisuke-jii's reprimand, but his last few words seemed to snap the man out of his temporary silence. ' _You fear for my safety?! Bullshit! My safety is still endangered every second Hitoshi Matsumoto lives! If you truly feared for me, as you say, you would do something with your useless life, and kill Hitoshi instead of selling that fucking yakitori! Until the day that Hitoshi is dead, I shall do as I please, and that means killing gaijins!'_

 

"In an instant, he had appeared before my father, who had been staring blankly at his wife. Ryuusuke's leg was raised high above his head, supreme arrogance possessed him, and my father looked up at him lifelessly, doing nothing to prevent what happened next. With a sickening crunch comparable to that which had occurred after my mother's neck had been broken, Ryuusuke's leg came crashing down, heel first, straight into my father's skull. The momentum carried dad's face straight towards the paved road below, and Ryuusuke's heel did not stop there. My father's head split open, in a rather unpleasant explosion of gory bits, and Ryuusuke's fine leather shoes were bathed in blood. A portion of his face was covered in the crimson liquid as well, and it served to make him look all the more deranged. I have never seen anyone look more demonic in my life than he had at that moment. Both my parents had been murdered before my very own eyes. I was six."

 

Kyo felt as though this wasn't exactly dinner-appropriate conversation. He also questioned why Sonic was still capable of smiling despite recounting how his parents had been brutally murdered.

 

"As I said, it was thanks to my excellent memory that I was able to understand what they were saying a long time later after mastering Japanese. Back then, I was confused and wondered why this happened. Had it all been because I supposedly stepped on his shoes, as I would later learn he claimed? Had it all been my fault? Were the murders of my mother and father solely on my head?  Would everything have been different if I had stayed in the hotel with my parents instead of trying to impress my father and venturing out on the streets to figure out what would be my father's favourite cuisine to eat? Would I even be here, talking to you, speaking Japanese, or working under Haruhiko-sama?" He turned his turquoise gaze once more to the twinkling stars up above. "I often wonder."

 

"How does this relate to you and Haruhiko-sama?" Kyo ventured. He still didn't see how the grumpy old man came into this.

 

"I'm getting to that. I'm not done with Ryuusuke and Daisuke-jii, however. Ryuusuke was completely consumed by his bloodlust, and made to kill me next. In the fastest single movement I've ever witnessed in my life -- or didn't witness, if you want to get technical --, Daisuke-jii intercepted Ryuusuke, a frail, wrinkled hand grasping the Yakuza thug firmly by his raised ankle. In the hand with which he grasped Ryuusuke...was a yakitori stick, which rubbed against the white fabric of the younger man's dress pants. This fact was not missed by Ryuusuke, but I thought that Daisuke-jii had a death wish. I didn't think it was possible, but Daisuke-jii displayed a controlled and poised form of bloodlust, something I didn't believe possible until I saw it in his eyes. Old man Daisuke was furious beyond belief, but he seemed to remain calm in spite of that. His next words were barely audible, and I didn't know what they meant, but they seemed to carry great power.

 

"'If you touch a single hair on this boy's head," he began, his voice a deadly whisper, "you will regret not dying with your parents.'

 

"Daisuke turned to me, then, and he pointed away. I understood myself to be dismissed, that I was to run away and not look back. I didn't know where I was to go, but I doubt Daisuke could've told me anyways. I ran away, sobbing freely, scared and tired and alone. Incredibly, inexorably, irrefutably alone. I ran, and I ran, and I ran. It didn't occur to me to return to the hotel. I just kept running, my little legs taking me somewhere I knew not, and I found myself in a dinky, deserted alleyway. I rested there, chest heaving, crying my little heart out and sore all over. I was alone in a foreign place, unable to speak the language, and unable to differentiate between friend and foe. As far as I was aware, anyone could've been a bad man, like Ryuusuke. No one was eager to help out the lost little foreign boy, cry as he might -- I highly doubt it was solely because of the language barrier, surely someone must've spoken English? No one seemed to care, however. I simply cried and cried, not knowing what else to do. Everything was too much. It wasn't long before my cries attracted someone: a middle-aged man, bespectacled, and easily irritable."

 

"Haruhiko-sama." Kyo said the name instantly, realizing where Sonic was going with this.

 

"Yes, Haruhiko-sama knelt before me. He first spoke to me in Japanese, perhaps out of habit, before realizing that I probably didn't know it. 'Cease your crying, child,' he said to me, his first words and the first words I had heard in English since I had come to Japan. I was stunned, to the point I actually did stop crying mid-sob. 'Good,' he said, 'now why are you crying? Where are your parents? What is your name?'

 

"I told him my name was Sonic Snowdrift, and the reason I was crying was because a man in a white-suit had just killed my mother and father, and Haruhiko-sama had a troubling look on his face. 'Yakuza,' he said, eyebrows furrowing. 'Very bad men. You should stay away from them. Why are you in Japan?'

 

"'Because we were supposed to be on vacation and mommy wanted to sightsee and daddy wanted to try the food and I went to a vendor to see food and impress daddy for tomorrow but that bad man killed mommy and daddy and the chicken man stopped him from killing me and told me to ran away so I did and I'm here and you're here and I lost my mommy and daddy!' I blathered on, unable to stop myself, pouring out all my feelings and thoughts to this strange man. It was then I lost my temporary composure, and started crying loudly again.

 

"' _Shhh! Do you want the Yakuza to find us? Do you want the bad man to find you and kill you?'_ Those words managed to get me to slow down my sobbing to a sniffle, crying silently to myself. 'Be quiet! You need to leave as soon as possible. If your parents are dead, then you need to live with another relative. I can send you back to where you came from, and you will be safe far away from the Yakuza. Where are you from?'

 

"'C-C-Canada,' I sniffled, rubbing at my eyes to get at the tears. 'Auntie Lorraine lives in Ontario, in Torando, I think.'

 

"'Toronto,' he corrected, and straightened up, holding out his hand to me. 'Your Auntie Lorraine lives in Toronto. I can send you back there, in a few days. Where are you staying?'

 

"'A-At the hotel, I don't know the name. I know where it is, though.' And so I led him back to the hotel, through a maze of alleyways and streets, half an hour from where the hotel had been located. Haruhiko-sama seemed impressed that I managed to find my way back to the hotel without assistance and unable to read signs -- they would've been useless, anyways, since I didn't know how to read or speak Japanese at the time. He led me inside and spoke to the hotel lobby receptionist, his Japanese fluent and firm. The woman seemed scared the moment he had entered the hotel, especially since she seemed to have recognized me from earlier; I doubt it would be hard to remember perhaps the only Caucasian child she'd seen that day. After a few words were exchanged, and minor protests from her, she handed Haruhiko a room key, who in turn handed it to me.

 

"'You now have an entire top penthouse suite to yourself, with all the luxurious commodities, for a week. During that time, I shall work to get ready all the necessary papers to send you back home, and to your Auntie Lorraine. Come, I will show you to your room.' With that he grasped my small hand firmly once more, and we traveled to the twelfth floor, the highest floor of the hotel with a single, massive pent suite occupying the entire floor. I was excited for a half second, before realizing that the suite would feel incredibly empty because of the lack of my parents' presence. Haruhiko-sama had me change, bathe, and tucked into bed, assuring me that he would take care of everything. I felt incredibly sleepy, and Haruhiko-sama left soon after.

 

"However, something felt wrong. My parents were no longer alive, and no adults were responsible for me anymore, which meant I had no one to rely on. I had just met Haruhiko-sama, and I didn't know if I could trust him. Certainly, he was kind in his own abrasive way, but the receptionist had looked at him with such fear in her eyes. What was that all about? Was he somehow in relation to the Yakuza? He did seem to know a lot about him, especially from my mediocre description of a man in a "white-suit". I couldn't let this rest. So, tired as I was, I snuck out of bed and put on some shoes, content with the clothes I was wearing, and sought to follow Haruhiko-sama.

 

"Down the elevator and through the lobby I went, spotted only by the hotel receptionist. Fear widened her eyes, and she called out to me, no doubt pleading for me to return to my room. I didn't understand her, of course, and I didn't care. She seemed to have been tasked with making sure I stayed in my room and didn't go wandering off, but I was already out the door by the time she stepped out from behind the reception desk. The look on her face as I ran out the door had been pure terror, and I almost felt bad for her. That didn't matter at that moment, however. Out into the night I ran, searching for Haruhiko-sama.

 

"Soon after, it occurred to me that perhaps it wasn't the best idea to run full out after him. If he caught me, he would send me back; already I knew the stubborn kind of man he would be. So, upon spotting him walking down the street the way we had come, I took to following him like a shadow, silent and swift. Every time I got that weird fuzzy feeling, I would duck behind the nearest corner. I think he nearly saw me a few times, but they all seemed to be close calls. After quite a while of walking, we had returned to the deserted alleyway upon which he had first found me crying. There was a shiny door with an eye slot."

 

"Haruhiko-sama's lair!" Kyo gasped, remembering the path he and Takamura had taken to visit Haruhiko, where they had first encountered Sonic. He should've known! Sonic did say that his family had landed in Tokyo at the Haneda Airport, and he and Takamura had just met Haruhiko there a few days ago.

 

Sonic nodded. "Yes, Haruhiko-sama's headquarters. Back then, just the name of the Yakuza was enough to inspire fear, so there was no need for doors to be locked at night; it was assumed that if a man or woman came to the lair of any Yakuza member, they came with the intention to not leave. At least alive, that is. Haruhiko-sama simply turned the handle of the door, entering with no assistance. I waited a minute before getting too impatient, and opening the door myself. I entered the corridor, noting how creepy the wide hall was with the darkness only being kept at bay by the blazing torches in the sconces lining the wall.

 

"The flickering light source played wicked tricks on the six year-old boy I was, especially since they alternated between bathing the creepy statues of creatures in light and hiding them in the darkness, ready to pounce upon me at any time. Oni, Dragons, Demons, Witches, Wolves, Gorgons, and Gargoyles. Back then, there were even statues of Vampires and Chimeras, but they managed to freak out even Haruhiko-sama, so he had them removed and hidden from sight. Imagine how terrifying it would've been for me, a little boy, to go through that. Especially since the statues seemed so life-like, obsidian-eyes sparkling, and I was incredibly tired, which made it worse. Despite that, however, I braved my fears and trudged past those monstrosities, following Haruhiko-sama deeper and deeper into the corridor.

 

"I was banking on the shadows hiding me from sight should Haruhiko-sama turn to look, so I continued on forward, unstopping. He finally reached the end, and I watched as he began to breathe fire into the demonic dragon's mouth, the eyes changing from obsidian to a blazing red. He grasped the dragon's large nose ring that served as the knocker, and pulled, entering the door. A few minutes later, he appeared once more -- I hid behind the statues that lined the corridor, swallowing my disgust for them and hiding in their welcoming darkness. He left the corridor altogether, going out the door from whence he came. I waited a few more minutes, just to make sure. I was greeted with an unbearable eerie, creepy silence that I couldn't bear any longer. I stepped out from underneath the cover of the shadows, and went to the door. It was locked. I managed to climb up a particularly gruesome statue of Medusa, and fetch a torch from the wall. Realizing I was way too short to reach the door dragon's mouth, I struggled with pushing a statue into place.

 

"It took a lot of work, and it left me even sorer than I had been, but I finally managed to do it. Climbing up the Medusa statue once more, I placed the torch in the door dragon's mouth, and blew on it a little, hoping it would accept the fire. Lucky for me, it did, as the eyes began to glow that brilliant scarlet once more. I placed the torch's handle between my teeth, climbing down the Medusa. I'd have to move it out of the way to have room for the door to open. But I also needed the statue to be high enough to pull on the handle. Pushing it out of the way an ample amount, I managed to grasp the handle and pulled with all my miniscule might. I don't know how I did it, but I did. Pushing the Medusa back into place, so that Haruhiko-sama wouldn't realize I had been here, I then pulled on the door and entered the room.

 

"Simply put, the room was massive. Black on black on black, everything from the curtains to the carpet, all pure black. It made the room seem unwelcoming and sinister. The ivory pillars that he has now were originally black, with the only thing offering a contrast to all the black was the white, flowing dragon above the dark, obsidian canopy.  I gasped, surprised. But I was more interested in the books. I knew they were in Japanese, but some were in English, French, Spanish, Chinese, German, Italian, and a plethora of other languages. I even spotted some Latin, Swahili, even a rarity like Somali, and they caught my interest. There were so many books, and I never had many books back at home because we didn't have much money. My mother would sometimes bring math books and textbooks, but rarely anything aside from that. I saw some math books as well, which was just as well. Math, unlike language, was universal. If nothing else, I could at least do those. But I figured that the most important thing was to learn Japanese, since I was in Japan.

 

"As I reached for a book, a hand snatched mine by the wrist. I was taken by surprise, expecting to see Haruhiko-sama angry beyond belief, but I was further taken aback when I realized it was the hotel receptionist! She had followed me there, and was still scared out of her wits, disbelieving of the fact she had snuck into a Yakuza lair to retrieve a foreign little boy she had been tasked to act the warden for. Her eyes were wide with fear, and she placed a finger over her lips, forming the "shush!" motion, and pulling me by the wrist. She was murmuring things in Japanese, what I would later understand to be 'This boy will be the death of me! I don't get paid nearly enough for this. I need vacation time.'" Sonic chuckled. "With such a rambunctious and unscrupulous kid like me on her hands, I'd say she certainly deserved it.

 

"When we returned to the hotel, my unasked question of how she had managed to leave the hotel was answered: she had gotten someone else to watch the front desk while she retrieved me. She escorted me back to my suite, and bathed a very fussy me, before giving me something to eat and tucking me in. She pointed to the phone, and showed me how to dial the front desk. Since we both didn't understand each other's languages, she managed to convey that she herself would personally come up each time I called the front desk. She also pointed out a menu on the bed stand for room service, with menu items offered in Japanese and English. After that, she stood watch over me, ensuring I fell asleep, before locking the windows and the door. She knew better than to leave me to my own devices in an unsupervised environment. I fell asleep, then, and enjoyed a dreamless, heavy sleep.

 

"Despite her best efforts, however, during the course of the week, I managed to sneak out whenever she was busy with clients. I would sneak back to Haruhiko-sama's headquarters, and manage to enter his personal library whenever he wasn't around. I began to read books, assisted by one of the many 'Japanese to English' and 'English to Japanese' dictionaries I had nicked from the front desk. There were some even better editions in the library, after figuring out basic Japanese words and phrases, aided immensely by my ability to recall things with great accuracy. I would sit there, every day, for hours at a time, teaching myself Japanese, and sneaking out whenever I heard the distinctive footsteps of Haruhiko-sama, the only person to ever visit the library. By doing this, I also taught myself to be rather sneaky, which drove the hotel receptionist, Kimiko Watanabe, to such crazy lengths in desperately trying to keep me in line for fear of suffering the Yakuza's wrath. Each night, I would sneak back into the hotel and my room, and be plagued with memories of my parents' murder the whole night through."

 

Kyo felt incredibly sorry for this woman. Sonic chuckled.

 

"One day, I was once more in Haruhiko-sama's library, and he appeared behind me, questioning how I managed to enter his abode, and what I thought I was doing. I was caught by surprise; I hadn't even heard him coming. I turned slowly, and was incredulous when I saw him, not angry, but seemingly nonplussed. He walked around the table, sitting before me and gazing at me, sizing me up. So, putting my recently acquired knowledge to use, I said, ' _Nani mo nai_.'

 

"Haruhiko-sama looked so surprised. ' _Nothing?_ Where did you learn Japanese? Who taught you?' I simply gestured around me, to the books on the shelves and the books on the table before me. Haruhiko-sama did something very unexpected at that moment: he laughed.

 

"'Ahahahaha! You learned this language by yourself? What are you, a child prodigy?' I shook my head, and told him I just had a really easy time remembering things. This extended to replaying the vicious killings of my parents, and Haruhiko-sama must've realized this as well. He saw something in me, gazing at me in such a way that I was unable to hold his stare. It was as though he was seeing straight through me, to my core, to everything I had been and was and would be and more. At that moment, Kimiko came rushing in, yelling for me in Japanese, only to stop dead in her tracks when she realized that Haruhiko-sama was in the room as well. She froze, fear causing her face to blanch, all colour draining from it at once, leaving her incredibly pale. 'H-H-Haruhiko-sama,' she said getting onto her knees and bowing with her entire body. ' _Gomen nasai,_ Haruhiko-sama! Please forgive me!'

 

"'You have failed in the task I set out for you, Kimiko-san,' Haruhiko-sama had said thoughtfully, still gazing at me. 'I expected better of you.' Kimiko flinched, still prostrated towards him on the ground, and spoke tearfully. ' _Gomen nasai,_ Haruhiko-sama! I tried my best.'

 

"'Clearly your best wasn't the best,' Haruhiko-sama remarked, his eyes piercing me to my soul. 'But don't worry. I know you tried your hardest, so I must thank you, Kimiko-san. I appreciate your hard work. You are dismissed.'

 

"'Haruhiko-sama?' Kimiko looked up, surprised and confused, her pony-tail sliding from over her shoulder once more towards her back. 'Haruhiko-sama, what of the child?'

 

"'Worry not about him. He is to be my ward. I will look after him personally. When I am unable, I shall ask that you do so, to the best of your ability. Does that seem fair?'

 

"' _H-Hai_ , Haruhiko-sama! _Arigato gozaimasu_! What about the boy's aunt, Lydia? What of her? You are no longer sending him back to Canada?'

 

"'Hmm, no, I shan't. I see use for this boy, and he's very talented. I shall nurture his talent personally. He shall remain living at the hotel, however. As far as his aunt will know, her sister, brother-in-law, and nephew all died at the same time. The boy's place is here now.'

 

"Kimiko then nodded, and gave one last lingering glance at me. Politely, I waved at her and thanked her. "A-ri-ga-to!", breaking up the syllables for emphasis. She seemed surprised, but shook it off, thanking me in turn. She left, and I was left with a question for Haruhiko-sama. 'Won't Auntie Lorraine want to see the bodies, though? How will she believe I'm dead if my body is not there? They will do tests on the bodies to prove it's mine, won't they?'

 

"Haruhiko-sama then harrumphed, his glasses gleaming. 'Boy, do you realize who you are speaking to? No, you wouldn't, would you? I'll tell you: before you sits the legendary Dragon of Death. Death is no obstacle to me, nor a foe, merely a tool to achieve my own ends. There is nothing I can't do when it comes to death. And, by the time I'm done, there won't be anything you can't do either.' And so began my tutelage under Haruhiko-sama, nineteen years ago. I've worked under him ever since."

 

Something nagged him. "And what of Ryuusuke? And Daisuke-jii?"

 

Sonic was silent a moment before answering. "Ryuusuke is still around, and very much still part of the Yakuza. He just so happens to be the kumicho's right hand man. In other words, untouchable by most everyone. As for Daisuke-jii...rumour has it he was killed years ago in a dispute. They say it was ultimately Ryuusuke who did the deed. One of these days, I plan on setting up a yakitori stand in Daisuke-jii’s honour."

 

Kyo was really intrigued by the story, and now saw Sonic in a new light; he would've never guessed he had such a history, such a tumultuous past, especially since he was always smiling and polite. "How do you keep smiling?" he had to know, curiosity gnawing at the corners of his mind.

 

"Simple. The past is the past, and thus, unchangeable. The future hasn't happened yet. That leaves us with the present. You may have heard the incredibly cheesy line that "today is a gift, that's why it's called the present." That's actually rather accurate, and I choose to make the best of my day instead of fretting over that which I have no control over. I still do, sometimes, especially regarding whether or not everything would've been different if I had never left the hotel without my parents, but that's been said and done. I amuse myself with what ifs, the most bizarre of which is my parents and I yachting with a Yeti we found in the Himalayas on a previous skiing trip we no doubt would've had. I suppose the Yeti would be the souvenir that we couldn't pass up."

 

The boy sat in silence, digesting his meal and the tale he had been told. ' _This should be a reminder to myself not to judge someone on looks alone, just as Mother always said. Just like I mustn't judge the kitsune to be a friend simply because of its beauty, nor too should I assume Sonic's had an easy life simply because he's constantly smiling.'_

 

Kyo made to speak, but noticed that Sonic was busy speaking with the waitress, instructing her to "put it on the tab", and that her service was appreciated. The woman seemed annoyed, but did as he asked, departing to serve other tables. Sonic turned his gaze back to the stars, and Kyo followed it, locating Genji Boshi and Heike Boshi. ' _Duty, Sacrifice, Loyalty. Do these mean anything to you, Father? Are you even alive anymore?'_

 

"So that's where you've been!" A gruff, annoyed voice made itself heard as its owner shuffled over to the table. Haruhiko was followed by Takamura and Felipe, an impassive look on the itako's visage to counteract the grin on Felipe's. "I suggest you come with us to the hotel, as we're going to be waking up bright and early, to head to Tai Shan, the Tranquil Mountain."

 

Sonic's eyes sparkled with interest. "Ah, Sifu Lao Shi? We're going to pay him a visit? I wonder why."

 

"You'll find out soon," Haruhiko stated, "now let's head back."

 

They had rested up that night, each getting some much needed sleep. Early morning found them ready to begin their trek...

 

***

 

"Kyo, watch out!"

 

The teen snapped out of his daydream, and realized his predicament. They had been walking along a narrow path, and with his lack of attention, he had taken a single misstep; that was all that was needed to send him tumbling over the edge and down in the deep crevasses of the earth below. He began to fall, but was stopped by a red cloth wrapping around his waist -- Takamura's obi sash was tightened around his waist, his single lifeline to the other three. She tugged swiftly, pulling him in one movement back to the rocky pathway. She was not pleased.

 

"Pay attention, Kyo. We are almost there."

 

Kyo rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, apologizing profusely; he didn’t even think to question the strength Takamura must have possessed to pull off such a feat single-handedly. Takamura tied the crimson obi sash once more around her waist. Up ahead, a lion and a lioness paced back and forth before a gate, tails flicking idly back and forth like metronomes. They looked absolutely feral, and Kyo began to feel some doubt seize him. It took him a moment to remember he was with Takamura and the others, so he was rather safe, even if he didn't feel that way. He just had to trust the others.

 

The lion and lioness caught sight of them, and bared their teeth, letting loose nigh-deafening roars while the Dragons stood before them, unflinching in their stance. It wasn't long before there was a roar that silenced even those of the lion and the lioness -- except Kyo couldn't see where it had come from. It hadn't been from his group, nor could he see any other lions. He was incredibly confused, wondering where it had come from, before he saw an incredibly large lion step forward, its grizzly mane and intelligent eyes its most prominent features. Atop this massive lion stood an incredibly short man, even shorter than Haruhiko, wispy trails of a white mustache and beard visible. His eyebrows were thick and flowing, as white as his beard. He was bald, his round head shining in the brilliant blaze of the sun overhead, and his eyes were small and clever. In a voice that belied his small stature, the man spoke in a rich, commanding tone.

 

"Who seeks to gain entrance to the exclusive and age-old tutelage and traditions of Lao Shi of the Lions, coming all the way to the Land of the Lions and asking the King of Beasts for his honourable guidance in all its wisdom?"

 

Kyo looked back at the Dragons and Sonic, all of whom looked at him expectantly. He stepped forward, facing the small man once more. "I do, Kyoji Takeshi, of Tokyo, Japan. I seek your honourable and wise tutelage, Sifu Lao Shi. Please, take me on as your student, as you have done Takamura-sama before me."

 

Sifu Lao Shi's eyes narrowed, flicking towards the only woman in the group. "Takamura-chan, you say?” His eyes hovered over her form, never staying in one place too long, looking her over as though he was comparing her to his mental image of her youth. “It has been quite some time, Takamura-chan. It seems as though you have not aged as swiftly as I had anticipated. Perhaps your youth is attributed to your penchant for saké; you always were a heavy drinker, as I recall. Saké is liquefied beauty, I always say.” His eyes darted to Kyo, his gaze hardening. “You are another of her wards? What should I care for another boy with high hopes, and miserable deliverance? For what reason should I take you on?"

 

It was Takamura who spoke now. "If you take him on, it shall be as a favour to Yakuma-sama. This is a matter of the utmost importance, and has been dictated by the prophecy. You are the only one, Sifu Lao Shi, who can prepare him for the role he is to play in this game."

 

' _Role in this game?'_ Kyo wondered, curious what she was talking about. He held his tongue, though.

 

Sifu Lao Shi's eyes widened at the mention of the name Yakuma, and then narrowed nearly instantly, focusing upon the boy. "You wish for me to take you on as a student? Very well, so be it. There is, however, a condition."

 

"Yes, Sifu Lao Shi?" Kyo asked, excited that he was getting a chance denied to so many.

 

Sifu Lao Shi's eyes shone with a wicked gleam, as the lion and the lioness reared up, pouncing towards the teen.

 

"You must defeat my familiars."


	15. Yang 13: Angel of Darkness

The night was cold, but so was she.

 

As if she would let the chilly, bitter temperature confine her to the indoors, weather be damned. No, she was not going to let anything restrict her from doing as she pleased, Mother Nature or not. Her will had been restricted before, and it was not something she was eager to experience ever again.

 

Deborah strutted down the street, her red heels clacking sharply against the pavement, tapping out her anger as though it were an instrument. She didn't know why that man had been so interested in her, or why Loki was divulging her history to him; he had no right, where did he get off talking about her private matters? Who was he to explain her history to anyone who asked? She felt her cheeks redden, and she wondered whether or not it was because of the alcohol; no way were those men responsible for that reaction of hers. Such a notion was ridiculous. Their mere existence was a vexation, and she didn't need them to judge her or pity her or even acknowledge her. She certainly didn't do that for them.

 

The streets of Florence were quiet tonight. Not so much as a mouse stirred, and this served to make Deborah's approach rather audible -- she did not notice, however, as she was absorbed more so in her thoughts and seething rage for those men whom she had the displeasure to encounter. She realized that the fact that the mere sight of them being enough to send her into a violent rage, one she barely could keep herself from acting upon, was a problem, and yet...she was bound by her anger, trapped to feel the hatred at all of his, all of their kind, helpless to feel anything but that corrosive emotion she had let corrupt her heart.

 

That only served to anger her some more.

 

She didn't want to be angry. She didn't want to hold onto this festering rage, but she didn't know how else to live. She sighed, pausing in her strides to glance skywards. As cold as the night was, as quiet as it was, if nothing else, it was peaceful. The stars twinkled, the winds fluttered, the silence dominated. Deborah felt as though the night was quiet simply so her mind would follow suit. It seemed to be telling her that the storm in her mind could be calmed, that she could be relaxed, and Deborah slowly found herself losing tension, shedding stress as though it were water off a duck's back. She sighed once more, inhaling deeply the night's cool air, hoping to become completely calm. She allowed herself the smallest of smiles, and then, for but a moment, she felt...at peace.

 

An agonized cry ripped through the air, shattering Deborah's momentary peace of mind. She grimaced, and instantly her gloomy and sour demeanour returned in full -- she knew that sort of cry. It was a woman's voice, and the shriek was one Deborah recognized rather well.

 

It was the cry of an objectified woman.

 

Screw the peaceful night. Deborah sprinted towards the origin of the sound, her red heels once more firing off sharp, angry clicks. The bitter wind whipped at her dark, wavy hair, also making her eyes water furiously. She narrowed her eyes, pressing on to aid the woman in need. Another cry sounded out, and she found herself willing her limbs to move faster and darting through the streets faster than she thought she was capable. The screeches seemed to be coming from a plaza up ahead, an open-ended one that was usually always active with people. Deborah slowed to a stop as she glanced about, taking in the situation. Still, there were a few people walking about, glancing at the scene but doing nothing to stop it. This infuriated her -- bystanders, who could help, but were content to ogle at the scene. Damned sheep.

 

A blonde woman was surrounded by a few men, all with guns in their hands except for one. Of the four there, a single man looked nervous and apprehensive when compared to the others. He was also the one without a weapon, and he seemed to be pleading with his comrades to leave the woman alone. They ignored him, instead opting to menacingly step towards her, their intent as clear as the sky above.

 

Like hell that was going to happen. Not while Deborah was around.

 

"Come now, mi amore," the man closest to the blonde woman said, raising his pistol and caressing her cheek with it, the other hand clasped around her throat, "you cannot deny us. You will find that I am most..." he cocked his gun, smiling politely, "...persuasive."

 

The nervous man continued to plead with his boss. "Please, Signore Vespucci, please leave her be! She's done nothing for us, we need to hurry, the polizia will be here soon if we don't go, please we must--" He fell silent as the leader raised his hand, signaling him to be quiet. He glanced from the woman to the boss, falling back in line as he hung his head in defeat, reluctantly resigning himself to watching what would happen.

 

"No," she gasped, struggling to breathe despite his grasp, "please no...I am no longer like that...please, I've changed, don't do this anymore...don't do this...Francesco..."

 

The man named Francesco leered at her. "Worry not, Madonna, I won't hurt you."

 

Madonna spluttered, darkness edging in on her peripheral vision. Francesco released her, and she collapsed to the ground, hand massaging her throat as she gasped for oxygen. "G-grazie, Francesco…g-gr-gra...z-zie..."

 

Francesco smiled wider. "I make no such promises for these fine young gentlemen, however."

 

"I do."

 

Francesco whirled around, his beady eyes narrowing on the woman before him. "And who's this supposed to be, your saviour? The bitch in the red dress?" He laughed loudly at his own joke, his men following along aside from the unarmed one, who feared for the woman's safety.

 

Deborah was unimpressed. "You are hurting my friend. I suggest you leave this place at once, if you value your lives, among other things." The implied threat was clear.

 

Francesco was amused, glancing towards the surprised woman on the floor behind him. "Is this true, Madonna? She is your friend?" He turned his gaze back towards Deborah, smiling brightly as he held eye contact with the steadfast woman.

 

Madonna gazed up at Deborah, wondering who she was, but nodded. "Yes, yes, she is my friend, she is here to save me, you will regret this Francesco, we will go to the polizia and report thi--"

 

Francesco laughed brazenly, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes with his gun hand. "You, a prostitute? Going to the police? Do you realize who I am? I am Francesco Vespucci, of the famed Vespucci family of Florence. I have la polizia in my back pocket. Who are they going to believe, a common, self-proclaimed "reforming" hooker, or a notable member of the renowned Vespucci family? Don't make me laugh, woman, you have no case, even if I weren't a member of the Vespucci. Don't flatter yourself. In this game of politics and power, you're not even a player. Lay there on the ground, as you were meant to do, and service those whom hold true power."

 

"No." Madonna's gaze seemed to grow fierce for a moment as her tone caused him to turn around and look her in the eye. "No. It is the women who are strong. It is women who wield true power. You may believe yourself to be powerful, Francesco Vespucci, yet at the end of the day, you come knocking on the door of a hooker, whom you claim doesn't even play the game. But I do play it, Francesco. And I play it a hell of a lot better than you." She found herself smirking. "You're not the only one with influence over la polizia."

 

Francesco's eyes widened as he realized what she meant, and then narrowed as he glared at the woman on the ground, raising his gun. "You insolent little bit--"

 

The gun went off, a split second after Madonna closed her eyes. A moment later, after realizing she was alright, she peeked through her fingers. And gasped.

 

Deborah's leg was extended, her red high heel placed through space where the trigger was of the gun. Francesco was still holding the handle, but he was clearly stunned -- she was preventing him from pulling the trigger again. Deborah threw her leg, and the gun flew out of Francesco's grip, skittering across the ground of the street. Francesco was unbelieving.

 

"Just who are you, red woman? Why do you care what happens to this useless piece of guttershit?"

 

Deborah's dangerous amber eyes stared him down. "As far as I'm concerned, this woman is innocent, and she's not the one that's complete and utter useless guttershit." Her leg, still in the air, whipped out behind him, sweeping him off his feet. He was facing the sky as he fell, and he saw a red heel from above come slamming down into his chest, speeding his fall. Francesco crashed into the ground on his back, with Deborah's heel on his chest, applying pressure. She was glaring down at him.

 

"And I'm quite concerned."

 

Francesco snarled. "Get her, get her you sacks of shit! Attack!"

 

The men were hesitant, after seeing what short work Deborah made of their boss. Still, the two most faithful of the four were advancing incrementally, their guns preceding them. Deborah let out a cold laugh, watching the men approach as though she carried a shotgun.

 

"Are you that afraid of a woman? Not so powerful when she can defend herself, are you?" She stomped on Francesco's chest, and he gasped in pain. "Cowards, that's what you all are. Little boys with deadly toys, and you don't even know how to play nicely. That's fine, because I don't either." She added more pressure to Francesco's sternum, depriving him of breath. Without looking at him, she addressed the pinned man.

 

"Now, Signore Vespucci, you are going to call off your men. You are going to leave with your tail in between your legs, or you are going to leave without it. I believe you know what tail I'm referring to." She raised her knee, and Francesco could tell what she intended to do.

 

"No!" he rasped. "No, you win...okay...please...no..."

 

She smirked, turning to look down at him. "Tell them to drop their guns." Francesco hesitated, but nodded. The men dropped their weapons.

 

"Kick them away."

 

The men hesitated.

 

"I won't repeat myself a second time."

 

They all knocked the pistols away from them, and Madonna went about collecting them to ensure they didn't take them. The unarmed man sighed a breath of relief.

 

Deborah cocked her head, wavy tresses of dark hair swaying sensually with the movement. "Take a good, long, hard look at your boss, boys. Look how powerful the Vespucci family is. Bested by an unarmed woman, trying to secure the services of a former prostitute, and unable to get off the floor. Yes, indeed, what a shining example of the inexorable grasp of power the Vespucci family has over Florence." Her sensual smile widened, sensing fear in Francesco's eyes.

 

"I've one question for you, Signore. If you truly were as powerful as you say, I'd imagine the women would flock to you, would they not? Rather curious how you seem to be more interested in a former sex trade worker. Rather curious indeed."

 

She pressed harder for a moment, hearing Francesco expel what little air was left in his lungs, before releasing the pressure and stepping off of him. He inhaled piteously, lying on the ground and sweating as he glared at the woman who had completely dominated him.

 

"I will...never...forget....this..." he rasped, trying to stabilize his breathing. Deborah looked down at him, uncharacteristically detached from emotion for but a moment, before replying.

 

"I'd be upset if you did." The vixen placed a hand on her curvaceous hip, and stared him down once more, her gleaming amber eyes hostile and intimidating. He held her gaze for a few seconds, massaging his throat, before he looked away -- damn her, who was she? Did she not realize he was part of one of the most influential families in all of Italy? Did she not know what that meant?

 

"Get out of here." Her voice was firm. It was not a suggestion. It was a command. Francesco's subordinates fled, all but the one whom had been pleading for Madonna's release. Francesco ran after them, scolding them for being cowards and not waiting for him.

 

The click of a gun was heard. The man turned to find a pistol lodged in the small of his back, and a rather determined expression on Madonna's visage. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't blow out our back."

 

He smiled politely, not turning to face her to put her at ease. "Because I alone beseeched Signore Vespucci for your well-being and release. Reason enough?"

 

Madonna said nothing. He took that as his cue to turn around, gently easing the gun from her grasp, and pocketing it. He offered her a polite smile so that she could see it, and bowed. " _Scusa_ , I haven't introduced myself. My name is Alfonso Alfieri. I apologize for Signore Vespucci's behaviour. He tends to think that as a member of a prominent and wealthy family, he is entitled to more leniency in the eyes of the law, and believes that his privileges are his rights. I am sorry he has caused this unpleasant event to occur, and that I could not stop him. Please accept my apologies on both my and his behalves."

 

Deborah scoffed. " _Scusa_ , but she's not accepting anything. Apologies are meaningless. They're just a way of justifying past behaviours for future use. Don't think she'll fall for that."

 

"Let me decide that for myself," Madonna replied snippishly. "I thank you for my rescue, er...?

 

"Deborah."

 

"Yes, Deborah. Thank you for your help, but I can make my own decisions." Madonna's eyes flickered over to Alfonso, eyeing him rather thoroughly. "And...thank you, Alfonso. I appreciate your efforts." Was that a bit of lustful longing Deborah detected? If not in her voice, then most definitely in her gaze.

 

"You," she said, addressing Alfonso, "why are you working for him? If you don't approve of his actions, why remain employed?"

 

"It is a long story, Signora, and one I am not particularly interested in divulging. Suffice to say, I am indebted to him in such a manner that I am unable to repay it. As such, I watch over him, almost like an angelo custode."

 

Deborah arched an eyebrow. "A guardian angel?" She mused over that. "Why are you still here? Your boss left. Go terrorize someone else."

 

Alfonso kept his small, polite smile. "That is because, Signora, I remained behind to apologize. Signore Vespucci won't approve, so I have to be quick about it."

 

"Well, you've done your job," Deborah said pointedly. "You may leave now."

 

Alfonso gave her a surprised look, but quickly resumed composure. Bowing, he said, "As you wish, Signora Deborah."

 

"Wait!"

 

He straightened up midway from his bow, gazing at Madonna with his charming smile. Madonna was breathing fast. "W-wait, what just happened here, it was traumatic. I'm told strangers who meet in disastrous situations become close friends quickly. Maybe we should exchange numbers and get together some time?"

 

Alfonso's smile widened. "Si, Signora Madonna. Of course, whatever you wish."

 

"Ah, 'Madonna.' Don't call me that. That's my former prostitute name. Call me by my name, Anjelica."

 

"Si, Signora Anjelica. As you say."

 

They exchanged numbers, and Madonna forced her number upon Deborah, saying that she insisted she keep in touch. Deborah doubted it, but she pocketed the number without a fuss. Alfonso offered his number, and Deborah rose an eyebrow. He assured her that it was strictly as friends, and Deborah accepted, intending to throw it out the moment she returned to her apartment.

 

With that, the three of them went their separate ways. The night had grown colder as Deborah's patience grew thinner. The rev of a motorcycle caught her attention, but she ignored it, until it was too loud to do so. It seemed to be right behind her, so she spoke loudly to the owner without facing them.

 

"Look, pal, I don't know who you are or what you want, but you can get lost. There's an entire street for you to drive on, no need to go and be an asshole trying to drive on the sidewalk."

 

A feminine chuckle was her response. Whirling around, Deborah caught a woman in a red mini dress and black leather jacket and red heels, not unlike Deborah's own. The woman straightened up from straddling the motorcycle, removing the visored helmet with leather-gloved hands as her hair tumbled from its confines, cascading down her back. Deborah quirked an eyebrow, curious as to what she wanted.

 

"Ah, I'm not here to annoy you," the woman said. "Quite the opposite, actually. I wanted to congratulate you on defeating Francesco Vespucci and his crew. Rather handily at that." She was grinning. "He won't be too pleased about that; he's a very vindictive man, I've had the displeasure of being on the receiving ends of his little 'Vespucci Vendettas' as he's so fond of calling them. It's really rather annoying to deal with."

 

"And you are...?"

 

"The name's Rosabella."

 

"Well, Rosabella, how do you know 'Prince Franny' so well?" This woman was hiding something.

 

Rosabella chuckled. "You're aware of the mafia within Venice and Florence?"

 

Deborah thought for a moment. "I think I recall something about a Vespucci family being in power over Florence, and a Vesgucci family ruling in Venice."

 

"Yes, well, my father has dealt with both parties in the past."

 

That caught her off-guard. "I was told that the Vespucci and Vesgucci families were very territorial and vindictive. If this is true, I'd imagine your father is dead."

 

"Nope," Rosabella responded cheerfully. "Father is alive and well, the epitome of physical health." It did not escape Deborah's notice how Rosabella emphasized the physical aspect of his health.

 

"Then how?"

 

"Father is quite influential. He is essentially the Terminator of Italian politics. We'll leave it at that."

 

The winds picked up, and Deborah felt herself shiver. This was not missed by Rosabella.

 

"Ah, it is a bit chilly out. How about this: as thanks for sticking up to that Vespucci punk, how about I give you a ride back to your place? It's the least I can do."

 

Deborah shook her head, about to voice her protests, but Rosabella shot her down. "C'mon, Debs, you don't have to go at it alone all the time. Hop on."

 

The raven-haired woman scowled, but complied, sliding on behind the motorcyclist. It was then she caught sight of the green viper with ruby eyes emblazoned upon her back, as well as the words "The Rainbow Renegades" artfully displayed around the image of the snake. The red eyes of the serpent seemed to twinkle, despite being completely stationary.

 

"What're you, some sort of gangster? A biker bitch?"

 

Rosabella chuckled. "Biker Bitch. I like that. I suppose I can call you Bitter Bitch in return." Deborah ignored that.

 

As Rosabella kick started her motorcycle, they took off, speeding through the tight-knit streets towards Deborah's house. Not even a few minutes later they were at Deborah's apartment complex, and Deborah found herself trying to thank the woman. Rosabella sensed this, and thought to spare the woman the effort. "Look, don't bother thanking me. As I said, it was I who should have thanked you. But, I wouldn't say no to a cup of tea. You don't mind, do you?"

 

Despite preferring to be alone and rarely, if ever, inviting people to her apartment -- despite the fact that Rosabella had just invited herself -- Deborah thought it rude to deny her this request after the ride she had just given her. Internally, she sighed, but she gestured for the woman to follow her in. Pressing the button, she rang up her neighbour, an eccentric man named Dante whom Deborah found to be rather nosey. But aside from his persistent efforts to pry, she found that she could rely on him, if at least to buzz her in when she forgot her keys.

 

"Dante, it's me, Deborah. Buzz me in, will you?"

 

"Oooh, who's there with you? A lady friend? Is she with you, am I going to be seeing her around here more often? What's her name? I like her clothes, she's got good taste. And niiiice jacket, where can I get me one of those? She looks stunning in it, I'm jealous."

 

Deborah rolled her eyes; he was tuning into the channel that allowed tenants to view the lobby and front door. She knew it better to humour him and answer his questions than allow him to ask new ones.

 

"No, no, no, Rosabella, that's nice, good on you, I've no idea, she appreciates it. Just buzz me in, will you?"

 

"Will do, dearie. Give me a moment."

 

A few seconds later, the buzzing sound went off, and Deborah pulled open the door, stepping inside as Rosabella followed suit.

 

"There you go, see you in a bit~" came the voice from the speaker.

 

Through the sumptuous lobby and into the elevator they went, going to the seventh floor, room 704. Fishing the key ring from her jacket pocket, Deborah put it into the doorknob, unlocking her apartment with a sharp click. In she strode, tossing her jacket on the couch as she disappeared into the kitchen. The door beside hers opened, and out popped a clean-shaven man with inquisitive eyes. He was jabbering away at a mile a minute.

 

"Oooh, it's you! You were with her, where is she? Are you her lesbian lover lady friend? Is she going to go get freshened up? It's about time she had a love life, heavens knows she needs it, and if it's not with a man, it may as well be with a woman, as long as she has someone. I've never met a person more in need of a partner, thank heavens you're here to cheer her up. I didn't catch your name, what was it? Rachel? Allison? Patricia? Joel?"

 

"What?"

 

"Nothing. What was it?"

 

"You didn't catch my name because I didn't give it. And, to answer your questions: Yes, yes, the kitchen, no, no, really? Good for her, how open-minded of you, that lonely huh? Sorry to disappoint, I heard you say Joel, and it's Rosabella."

 

"Rosabella." He pondered over that, musing at how it sounded. "That's a pretty name, for a pretty lady with pretty clothes. And yes, I can't afford to be close-minded. I smell tea, is she making some? How lovely, I am quite parched. Don't mind if I do." With that, he invited himself over, crossing the threshold of his apartment to the hallway and into Deborah's. Dante was uncharacteristically silent, following Rosabella's example as they quietly looked about.

 

Deborah emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later, a tray with three china tea cups and saucers in her hands; she couldn't mistake Dante's voice, and she had correctly deduced he'd be staying for tea. "Dante, you really must learn to respect privacy."

 

Dante chuckled. "Oh hush up, I know you're glad I'm here. As your only friend, I take it upon myself to force my presence upon you. Otherwise, you wouldn't have time for any friends~"

 

Deborah's eyes narrowed at his word usage, but she kept silent, instead opting to sip on her tea. It was hot, but her temper was hotter. Rosabella, sensing some tension, broke the silence.

 

"I noticed you don't have many possessions," she said, glancing about, "though there are no signs of cardboard moving boxes, so it's safe to assume you haven't recently moved in. Any particular reason for the lack of things?"

 

The female tenant placed down her saucer. "I know it might strike you as implausible, but I am not one for sentimentality." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

 

It was Rosabella's turn to chuckle. "No, I don't suppose you are. Still, while perusing through your small library on the bookstand by the window, I noticed something: you have a vast fascination with demonology, almost obsessive if the large and tediously-organized collection is anything to go by. Why the interest?"

 

Deborah was silent for a few moments. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet and solemn. The others figured this was a sensitive topic to her. "When I was a little girl, things happened. Cruel things. When those things had passed, I was left without a mother, father, and older brother. I was also left without the outlook on life I previously had when looking through rose-coloured glasses, as is so typical of a child. I was left without anything: no family, no love, no emotions. I could not trust my memories on my family and life, because everything had changed.

 

"But I was not left empty-handed. Where emotional, mental, and psychological things were missing, physical objects were left behind. It was as though they concrete evidence that my family had once existed. That my mother, father, and brother were real. And so I looked through the objects. There were CDs and electronics and family photos, but it all felt fake. It felt like someone had planted them, as though it was carefully, methodically plotted out to make a picture perfect family. It did not feel genuine, though my memories of them had started to go the same way.

 

"But then I discovered these books. They were in my father's private office, on the uppermost shelf where he thought my brother and I couldn't reach. But I reached them. And I read them. There was a dedication on the very first page of the first book in the anthology, _Deadly Demonology: Sinister Sins_. I remember reading it, and wondering what it meant: ' _She may go through hell, but that just means she's coming home. Family has this interesting tendency to always come back. Just as my wrath shall if you fail in this endeavour. To Lady Luck, I leave your fate -- for hell hath no wrath like a woman scorned_.'

 

"The note was signed with a simple letter: A. I never found out who wrote that note, but it spurred me to begin reading. The moment I finished the first chapter, I became hooked. The book was almost sinful, in the way it read so easily. I discovered my interest in demonology from that day on, and the rest is Before Common Era."

 

Dante looked confused. "Wha…?"

 

Rosabella's eyes had been lingering near the bookcase as Deborah told her story, but her eyes snapped onto the other woman. "It was a joke. Before Common Era: BCE. She was saying the rest was history."

 

A look of understanding dawned on Dante's smooth face. "Ah, I see." Aside from that, the usually motor-mouth man was oddly silent.

 

The silence reigned for a few moments before Deborah stood. "Well, I've extended my hospitality. Now, please leave, before I extend my foot up your ass and kick you out the door. I hope you both enjoyed yourself."

 

They both thanked her, and Rosabella took her leave first. Dante was on the couch for a moment more, a lilting smile on his face. "You could've invited her to stay the night, heavens, how paranoid are you?"

 

Deborah showed him to the door, and he hurried back to his room. "Not my cup of tea," she said softly, before looking down. "I'm alone because I want to be. I have no interest in either." She paused for a moment. "Besides," she said, still avoiding eye contact, "sometimes it's better to be alone. Nobody can hurt you."

 

Dante laughed softly. "Believe me, dearie, a wise man once said that the truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just need to find the ones worth suffering for."

 

The woman looked up, making eye contact and holding it. "Yeah, well, I've found that none of them are. And I'm not looking." She closed the door, and heard Dante do the same a room over.

 

Deborah cleaned up, picking up the saucers of cups and taking them to the kitchen, rinsing them out and leaving them in the sink. She headed to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Inside, she just stared at herself in the mirror, seeing not with her eyes but with her mind.

 

What she saw was a sad and confused little girl, loaded with responsibilities and anger the likes of which none had seen. That note in the demonology book had been right: 'hell hath no wrath like a woman scorned.'

 

"Brava, _brava_ ," a disembodied voice intoned, an amused lilt to its tone. The lights of the bathroom flickered and went out, darkness settling in the room. Deborah's eyes adjusted a few moments later, and she looked to the source of the sound: the mirror.

 

There was an image reflected in the mirror, but it was not her own. It was another woman's, a woman with pale skin and dark, exceptionally-long hair. She wore a pair of small, point-ended purple glasses on the bridge of her nose, and her pupils were violet. Her lips were a shade of lavender, and her expression was that of an extremely amused woman. She leaned forwards in the mirror, the glass rippling as she emerged, floating from within the mirror’s dimension to the physical plane, stepping lightly before Deborah. She wore a tie-dyed bandana to push back her flowing hair, a lavender tank top with the large psychedelic flower motif emblazoned on the chest, and royal purple bell-bottoms. A retro peace-sign medallion hung on a hand-woven chain around her slender neck. On her feet were purple-strapped sandals. The woman was bedazzled with several wrist-bands, some of which seemed to be hand-crafted friendship bracelets, and upper-arm band accessories, different colours between them. She looked like a very out-of-place hippie from the '60s and '70s.

 

"Brava indeed, Deborah," the woman intoned, clapping her purple-nailed hands slowly, an amused grin on her face. "That was quite the tale you spun, woven very convincingly. It's a shame that you were most likely lying."

 

Deborah glanced at the woman before her, seemingly unsurprised or fazed by her appearance. "Well, well, if it isn't the Angel of Darkness herself. How much of that did you hear, she-demon?"

 

"Please, 'She-Demon?" The demon waved her hand dismissively. "Why the flattery? Have I forgotten my own death day?" She leered at the woman. "I have a name, as you very well know. Darcinda Zelda, though most call me "Damned Darcy", shortly before they die." She seemed to be relishing Deborah's annoyance. "You know I'm always lurking somewhere nearby. I've heard it all, though you knew I already know your tale. Though one question: why reveal your past to complete strangers?"

 

"That is none of your business."

 

"Au contraire." A single long, pale finger lifted up Deborah's chin, locking eye contact with each other. "What a haughty human you are. It's been years since you've summoned and signed a contract with me, and yet you still remain as closed off as the day I appeared in your realm, watching the little girl you were fight your fright at the sight of me. I was impressed, you know -- only a few people have managed to have the gall, skill, and willpower to summon me. Never in my fifteen hundred years as a demon did I think that I would be summoned by a child. I suppose 'prodigy' would be the term to apply to you." She cocked her head. "Or a very, very angry little girl."

 

The woman’s eyes flashed, but she realized that the demon was simply trying to get a rise out of her. “Do me a favour and go to hell.”

 

Darcy laughed, a surprisingly light, tinkling sound. “Been there, done that. As a matter of fact, I was there mere moments before. Just came back, you see. I figured it’s about time I lingered in the mortal realm for a bit.”

 

“Go haunt someone else. I don’t have time to deal with you. Unless, of course, you’ve got something worth my while.”

 

The demon’s visage was that of a woman with a secret. "As a matter of fact,” she repeated tantalizingly, “I do." She paused, allowing Deborah to wonder what she was up to.

 

Now she was deliberately being difficult. “Spit it out, she-demon. I don’t have time for your games. Does it have anything to do with _him_?”

 

“It just might~” Darcy replied, her tone that of a sing-song. She could tell Deborah was getting really angry now, and she had already taken her fun. “Demons are a gossipy lot, you know. There’s only so much chat about weather one can make when in hell; as such, when things happen, it is almost immediately known by all of the netherrealm’s inhabitants.” Darcy paused for dramatic effect, raising her index finger as well. “Word in the Netherrealm has it that _he_ is in fact alive, and is part of an organization now; a rather sinister one, at that, just a bunch of macabre mortals with delusions of grandeur and power.” She chuckled at the thought. “He’s been up to some interesting things since you last saw him.”

 

“Where can I find him?” Deborah’s steely tone caused the demon to raise an eyebrow; she was certainly dispassionate when it came to those she disliked. Were they really related, her and that man?

 

“That, I cannot tell you. Not much is known of that yet.” A thoughtful look crossed the she-creature’s features. “He’s certainly an elusive one, your brother Mitchel.”

 

Deborah’s upper lip corner twitched at the mention of her brother. “I don’t care what I have to go through. I will find him, and I will kill him. I’ve already been through hell and back. I may as well do it again.”

 

At this, the she-demon laughed heartily. “Surely,” she chuckled, “not all you humans are this foolish? Am I just lucky to have one as dim-witted as you, or do you truly believe you’re something special?”

 

"What are you saying?"

 

Darcy smiled brightly, her violent eyes seeming to sparkle in a most malevolent manner. "I'm saying that you thought you made it through hell? How ignorant your kind is. My dear, if you think you've made it through hell and that you're a survivor, think again. Hell hasn't even begun. Want to know when you've made it?"

 

Deborah didn't know if she wanted to, but she bit the bullet anyways. "When?"

 

The she-demon beckoned, leaning in closer to the woman, whispering the answer. "When hell freezes over."


	16. Yin 14: Jaded

The television set buzzed downstairs, but everything else was silent. Li Bailong stared at the ceiling. It was made of glass, so he could see out into the night sky, watching the stars twinkle brightly, contrasting starkly with his current dark mood.

 

Focused, sharp emotions such as anger and bitterness welled up in him, though oddly he also felt numb and detached at the same time as well. In all honesty, he didn't know how to feel. His three-years-older-than-him brother, Li Shaoming, was a horrible sibling. There was simply no other way to put it. He hadn't always been like that, though, as far as Li Bailong could remember. It had only been in the last two years that Li Shaoming had undergone a severe personality transformation. Beforehand, he had been kind, supportive, understanding, what anyone would typically expect of an older brother.

 

This was not the case now. Li Shaoming had become vindictive, jealous, cruel, shallow, ignorant, non-understanding, and a whole host of other things. Li Bailong didn't know whether or not he could truly call Li Shaoming 'brother'; he knew that the other boy didn't consider him one. It had been bothering him for ages -- what exactly had caused his older brother's transformation? Li Shaoming certainly wasn't talking, and no one else knew, not even their mother.

 

 _Their mother._ The bitterness and anger had been kept at bay by the numbness and detached feeling, but the thought of his mother changed that; it was as though the passionate feelings suddenly surged and banished the numbness from within him. He began to shiver heavily, tears streaming down his face. He couldn't contain himself, and he tried to fight his feelings, to subdue them. Li Bailong hated to cry, hated to show weakness, especially since he knew that Li Shaoming would take advantage of it and use it to hurt him. He did not wish to be hurt by his brother, or give him reason to use against him. He was alone in his room, however, and if he had to cry, had to break down, there would be no safer place to do it than his room...it wasn't as though anyone was around...

 

He relented, and a gruesome storm of grief gripped him in its inexorable grasp. He wished he could turn to his father, to have his daddy console him, but that wasn't possible. According to his mother, his father had been killed at the hands of an American; the reason being that he was of East Asian descent, and thus the American man couldn't differentiate between him being an ally or enemy, considering everyone not from America "the others". The rational explanation, if such a thing existed, was that the man did not understand that the Cold War had been over for nearly six years, and that all people of Asian heritage were not at war with America or out to eradicate American culture from within.

 

Regardless of what the man thought, one dark night of January 1998, his father Li Shang was murdered in blood as cold as the night itself. He had not even been aware that his wife was pregnant for the second time; he had been rushing home because his wife had told him that she had some very exciting, life-changing news for him. As it turns out, her news (of Li Bailong's inception) was not as life-changing as the one the police officers had for her that very night. She didn't understand a lick of English, but showing her the body was enough to illustrate their point.

 

Li Mei was then left in the world with a two year old son and another child on the way, her aging mother, and with no husband to support her. Li Shang had been the bread-winner, the only source of income for their small little family. They had no friends nor family living nearby in their area of Philadelphia, and fear drove Li Mei to move them from state to state, attempting to relocate to Canada, a supposed safe haven and amongst the most peaceful of countries at the time. She had heard rumours of that it was a much better place to live than America, and after having her husband and dreams of a peaceful life shattered, Li Mei wished to flee the "Land of the Free"; she was sure that she wouldn't find her "American Dream" here, as she had already found her nightmare.

 

And so she had fled, and so she had fled, traveling across the country while pregnant and taking care of her toddler son and elderly mother. Months passed, and it began to show on her ever-growing midsection. There were those sympathetic to her obvious plight, and offered them a room to stay for a night before they were forced to move on. Others weren't as lenient, shutting their doors to the "chink-eyed bitch", as she was often greeted with. Soon enough, she picked that phrase up, and whenever she requested board for the night, she greeted them with "cheenk-eyed beetch", to which she was met with either disgust or, as was more often the case, gales of condescending laughter echoed by the slam of the door.

 

Then came one day when Li Mei knocked upon the door of a small, nearly dilapidated house, almost shack-like, a little ways off from the main road. A young African girl, no older than seven, answered the door, eyes quizzical as she studied the three people before her. "Waa maaxaay? What do you want?"

 

Li Mei pointed to herself, as she'd seen many of the locals done when they called her names, and spoke very softly in her broken English. "Cheenk-eyed beetch," she said, smiling politely. Then she pointed to her mother and son, Li Shaoming, before pointing to her belly and rubbing it. The young Somali girl stared at her, her bright brown eyes gazing deeply into Li Mei's jade ones. "I see. People are cruel." She glanced at the other two. "Are you hungry? Come inside."

 

She beckoned forward, stepping aside as the door swooped open to reveal a modest cabin, with few furnishings and no decorations aside from two things: a large, blue flag with a white star in the middle of it, hoisted over the empty fireplace; and a large, ivory horn placed on the mantle. Li Mei entered, cradling Li Shaoming close to her, her other hand offered to her own mother, but waved off; as old as she may have appeared, Xiao Fei disliked being offered aid as though she were incapable of caring for herself. She was delicate, not feeble.

 

Up the broken wooden steps they climbed, crossing the porch and ducking under the low-hanging doorway. The room was dimly light, and a small table stood in the centre of the room, quite close to the ground. There were no seats. The girl gestured to the table, and the newcomers settled around it, glad to rest their weary feet. On the table were red and blue berries, as well as slices of bread. A pitcher of water stood near the edge, and Li Shaoming inadvertently managed to knock it off when he settled down rather clumsily by it. He met the older girl's gaze, transfixed by her focused, dazzling eyes before glancing down, not knowing what to do. "Sorry," he mumbled softly.

 

The girl raised an eyebrow; so the youngest could speak English? _'Interesting_ ,' she thought. "You made a mess. Therefore, you shall clean it." She disappeared for a moment, reappearing with a bunch of towels, handing them to him. "Clean your mess. I shall go fetch more water." She turned to leave, but she heard Li Mei begin to speak. She was looking at her the girl, but addressing her son. Li Shaoming listened, before speaking to her.

 

"My mommy...says I'm too...young to do it myself...I'm only two years old..."

 

The girl was unimpressed. "Are you capable of standing?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Are you capable of talking? Are you capable of making mistakes? Then you are capable of fixing them. I am going to retrieve more water from the well. I suggest this mess be cleaned before I return."

 

Li Mei asked her son another question. "She wants to know what your name is," Li Shaoming translated.

 

"My name is Idileila. I was named after my aunts, Idil and Leila. And yours?"

 

"Li Shaoming," he said, before gesturing to his mother, "Li Mei and my grandma is called Xiao Fei. And this," he said proudly, rubbing his mother's visibly pregnant stomach, "is my little brother."

 

"Assalamu Alaykum," she said, before disappearing through the front door. That left Li Shaoming puzzled, wondering what she said. He got to work, cleaning up the mess diligently, trying to pull his own weight and make up for his shortcomings. He felt it is what his father would've done, and it's certainly what his mother had taught him and exemplified.

 

He was finishing up when she returned a few moments later, a large pitcher full of clear liquid. "You've finished cleaning up your mess. Good work." She placed the pitcher near the middle of the table this time, so as to avoid any more accidental spills. Li Shaoming didn't know why, but he felt a great sense of accomplishment at her words.

 

"Um," he began, catching her attention. He avoided her gaze. "What does assalama laika mean?"

 

"‘Assalamu Alaykum’ is Arabic for 'Peace be upon you.' My Hoyo raised me to be polite and well-wishing of others, regardless of how they treat me."

 

Li Shaoming gave her an odd look. "Ho....yo...?"

 

"It's Somali for 'Mother'. Or 'Mommy'. I'm Somali."

 

"Ooh," he said, a look of understanding dawning on his face. "Where is your mommy?"

 

Just then, a shout resounded from above them: "Naaya! Waa kuuma? Who is it? Who is there?"

 

"Hoyo, it's a pregnant lady, an elderly lady, and a little boy."

 

"Are they hungry? Let them eat."

 

"I know Hoyo, I invited them in."

 

"Xaaye. Kaalay, bring them to me."

 

"Xaa, Hoyo."

 

Idileila gestured to the stairs, inviting them to visit her mother. “The room at the end of the hall.” Li Shaoming nodded, treading apprehensively as he approached the wooden steps.

 

“Daqso!” came the voice, startling the boy once more.

 

“She says to hurry,” Idileila translated. Li Shaoming kind of got the impression.

 

Up the stairs he went, looking at the dimly-lit upper floor. There wasn’t much furniture here either, though there was a faded Persian carpet laid out so that it led directly to what Li Shaoming believed to be the master bedroom. He knocked before entering, realizing that the lights were off.

 

He peeped cautiously around the door, trying to see if anyone was here. “Hello?” he ventured, wondering where the voice from upstairs had come from. Idileila said it had been this room, right?

 

“Ii soo dhawoow,” a voice suddenly said, from before him. “Come closer.”

 

Li Shaoming obeyed, tentatively stepping forward. “Daqso!” the voice commanded, and he hurried to the bedside. There sat a thickset woman, a matronly look about her. Her smile was warm, her eyes as intense as her daughter’s. She looked at him, assessing him silently as he stood there quietly.

 

“Magacaa?” she said.

 

“Huh?”

 

“What is your name?”

 

“Li Shaoming.”

 

“Assalamu Alaykum, Li Shaoming.” She narrowed her eyes, studying him closely. “Why are you here? How did you come here?”

 

Li Shaoming was starting to feel uncomfortable. “My mommy is pregnant, and we don’t have a home. We’re wandering, and came across this place. Your daughter let us in, and gave us food to eat. What we need is a place to sleep, too.” His eyes began to water and his bottom lip began to quiver, acting the part of a pitiful, homeless little boy -- not that he had much acting to do. It wasn’t often he got to this part of the plan, since most people shut the door the minute his mother started talking. Hot, tears began to leak out of the corners of his eyes, spilling down his face as he looked down, breaking eye contact with the middle-aged woman. “We have nowhere to go, nowhere to turn to, no one wants to acce--”

 

“Stop.”

 

The boy looked up, surprised. “W-what?”

 

“You can stop your act. You’re not very good at lying. I could see through it in a Mogadishu minute.” She snapped her finger, emphasizing her words. “What kind of person do you take me for?”

 

Li Shaoming kept his mouth shut. This situation hadn’t ever occurred, so he didn’t know what to do. Better to be silent than say something wrong; he had a feeling that this woman’s temper was quite volatile.

 

She assessed him with her gaze, her expression seemingly amused -- this only served to puzzle Li Shaoming further. “I can see you’ve been through much in your short time here. I am not so uncompassionate that I would turn away a starving child, a pregnant woman, and the elderly. You may stay...”

 

“Thank you, thank you! It means so mu--”

 

“As long as you pull your own weight. We don’t have the means to be a charity, so you will work for your food and board. Is that clear?”

 

Li Shaoming was ecstatic. He raced off to tell his mother, leaving Fatuma to smile as she watched him go. She hadn’t seen such energy from a child since her husband had died, the last time Idileila had smiled. It was nice to see that energy that had once flowed in this house return once more. Perhaps it was partially her fault it had left, but she couldn't change the past, no more than she could dictate the future. Their fate was set, all that was left to do was bide their time. Fatuma sighed contently to herself. It seemed that the wheels of time were spinning, and she wondered if they would ever stop.

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Hoyo?” a firm voice asked from the corner to the left of the door; there had been another figure in the room, that Li Shaoming had not taken notice of. “We’ve just met them, and have no idea what they’re capable of.”

 

“Relax, Hoyo,” Fatuma said, addressing her mother. An elderly lady, leaning on a cane-like stick, approached from the shadows, sitting by her daughter’s side. Her wrinkled face was contorted in concern, a withered hand cupping the portly face of her child. “Do not worry. Was it not you, Hoyo, who taught me to give others a chance and to believe the best in people? The way others believed you and gave you a chance?”

 

The feeble-seeming woman, Shamad, sighed. “That is true, Hoyo. What a good daughter you are.”

 

“No, Hoyo. What a good mother _you_ are.” They sat in silence, listening to the sounds from downstairs.

 

The little boy excitedly told his mother the news, who wept with joy at their kindness. She had seen a lot in her years in America, and kindness had rarely been one of them. Li Shaoming hugged her, wiping away her tears with his little fingers. He didn’t like to see his mother cry; it made him want to cry, and he wasn’t fond of crying.

 

Idileila smiled, and showed them around the house. As it was small, it did not take long, and then they settled in the living room to discuss their pasts. It was only prudent, naturally, as they were to now be living partners. In no time at all, Li Shaoming had divulged the entirety of their situation to the Somali girl, and it was with a mature solemnity that she listened to their plight. When he mentioned how they kept calling her a “chink-eyed bitch”, Idileila’s eyebrows knotted slightly.

 

“Cruelty and cowardice,” she spat, an uncharacteristic look of anger upon her face. “That’s all they are, quick to laugh at those beneath them and beg for mercy when they are put in the same position. They will receive their just desserts in due time, I have no doubt.”

 

Li Shaoming wasn’t sure what she meant. “What does that mean? ‘Chink-eyed bitch?’ Why do they call her that?”

 

The girl stared right at the young boy, feeling his inquisitive eyes meeting her own stern ones. She did not know, in any possible manner, of how to explain the reasoning behind those people’s remarks. The fact that she had to explain what racism was to a young boy, to open his eyes to the cruelty of humanity even more so than he had endured, was something she thought ridiculous – how could she try to explain to him how the nature of their eye shape could be insulting?

 

“They call her such, Li Shaoming, because they think of differences as something to detest instead of embrace. Because harmony is something they cannot comprehend. Because,” she declared, “they need to feel special, in this world where we are all the same.”

 

The boy nodded, making sense of what Idileila had revealed to him. “But what about you? What about your father?”

 

A pause. “That tale will be told at another time. Time to sleep, for us all. You know your quarters.” She got up and made her way upstairs, leaving the Chinese family to their own devices.  It was not long before Li Mei was fast asleep, which left her mother and son awake to sit in silence – a silence which Xiao Fei broke with a cackle. Li Shaoming was worried.

 

“W-why are you laughing, Grandmother? What is so funny?”

 

“It’s nothing,” the old woman laughed, watching her daughter lost in slumber with fond eyes. “I once told your mother when she was a young girl that I could not wait to have grandchildren, as I refused to leave this life before I knew what my daughter had brought into it. And there she lays, with child once more, ready to give me another grandson.” Her wrinkled face seemed to scrunch up in thought, looking to the side. “Though I would’ve always liked a granddaughter.”

 

“Tell me about father,” Li Shaoming asked, his voice wistful with longing; he missed his father very much. “What was he like?”

 

“He was a rascal.” Xiao Fei’s tone took a dark turn. “He was a rascal, a charmer, a sweet-talker who thought he could get my daughter into his rapidly-spinning world before she was ready for it. He thought he could take my daughter from me, and introduce her to the way of life a common criminal, and make her fall for him without any intention to catch her.”

 

Li Shaoming’s ideals about his father were being horribly destroyed by his grandmother, and he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. He was about to roll over and go to sleep, but his grandmother’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “But he did love her.”

 

The boy perked up, his inquisitive eyes watching his elderly grandmother closely. “How did they meet?”

 

Xiao Fei harrumphed, a disapproving eye cast over her slumbering daughter. “Your parents met in the most dubious of ways, at a monastery temple no less. Despite my forbidding it, Mei snuck out the house in the dead of the night to go to the nearest temple and pray for her missing father, my poor husband Li Yu. It was there she met your father, no doubt repenting for some sin he had just committed.

 

“Your father used to be a very bad man, before he met your mother. He had ties to people who prey upon the weak and think themselves a better class than others. Meeting Mei caused him to change: if he could not make her join his world, he would have to join hers. I do not believe your mother knew what she was getting into, for she was a young and foolish girl, her head filled with ideas of love and romance and passion. Whatever the case, once she had reached the temple, she noticed she was not alone. The temple was empty, aside from a lone man before the great golden statue of Buddha, evidently praying for something.

 

“Your mother slowly approached him, for reasons I still fail to understand – she knew not this man, yet she went towards him. Perhaps she felt that she would be protected within the temple, or perhaps I failed to instill common sense in this daughter of mine.” Xiao Fei glared contemptuously at her sleeping daughter, but Li Shaoming could tell that she didn’t mean it, at least entirely. There were hints of tenderness in her gaze. “As Mei neared him, she realized that what she had mistaken for praying was actually the man sobbing silently. She immediately knelt down, patting him on the back and caressing his hair, whispering for him to calm down and cease his crying. Your father looked up at her through tear-stricken eyes, questioning if she was an angel sent to him from Heaven. Your mother smiled, denying his assumption, but telling him that his tears should be reserved for moments of joy, not sorrow. The man nodded, tears still streaming down his face, as he could not stop himself from crying. Your mother asked him what was wrong, and your father broke down in tears.

 

 _““I have angered the wrong people, and now only Buddha can save me. I know not my mother, and my father is incapable of taking care of himself, much less me. I had to step up, and there were few opportunities for someone of my upbringing. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and yet I find myself more desperate and destitute than I was back then. This is not a life. The Lord Buddha must be testing me. How can I believe, Buddha, when you teach me through experience? Is experience not a cruel teacher, O Buddha, when it gives the test before presenting the lesson? I just want happiness! Is that so much to ask? Deliver me, O Buddha, from these wretched circumstances I find myself in_.”

 

“Your mother comforted him, smiling gently as she recounted a well-known tale. “ _Listen here, young man, as I tell you the story of our Lord Buddha my mother told unto me. Once, long ago, a young man, not unlike yourself, approached the Buddha, clearly upset and anxious. The Buddha invited him near, questioning what was wrong. The man, unable to articulate himself and all his problems, stated unto Buddha,_ “I just want happiness.” _The Buddha smiled, ushering the man to come closer as he shared his enlightened wisdom._ “First,” _he said,_ “Remove ‘I’, that’s ego. Then remove ‘want’, that’s desire.” _The Buddha then smiled kindly._ “See? Now you are left with only happiness.””

 

“Your father rubbed at his eyes, drying his tears with the back of his hands as he listened to your mother’s tale. He thanked Mei for her advice, and began praying with a clearer mind. Your mother could tell it still weighed heavy on his mind and soul, however, so she risked returning home late in order to stay with this man and continue to provide him comfort. They stayed there all night long, praying in silence and occasionally discussing each other’s pasts. A bond was formed that night, one as unbreakable as destiny itself. You know, Li Shaoming, it is said that an invisible red thread is tied around one’s ankles at birth by the gods themselves, and it is attached to the ankle of one’s destined lover. The thread will lead you to your destined love one, regardless of time, place nor circumstances; in addition, it may stretch and twist and tangle, but it shall never break. The gods know whom you shall love, and nothing in all of creation can prevent you from having that blessing: a love hand-sculpted by the gods themselves.”

 

Xiao Fei looked over towards her daughter once more, so young yet so experienced in this life’s cruelty already. She made a shooing motion towards her, saying, “Go on, young one; curl up with your mother and brother, go towards the land with no worries and sweet dreams. Who knows, perhaps you’ll even see the face of your beloved tonight whilst you slumber!”

 

Excited for that possibility, the boy scooted towards his mother, slipping under her embrace and hugging both her and his unborn brother. He snuggled closer, whispering to his sibling. “Sleep now, little brother, and sleep well. When you wake up, you shall see many things, but I pray you won’t see that which I’ve seen, none of the bad, yet all of the good – all of it and more.”

 

Xiao Fei watched this with an approving eye, keeping watch over him until sleep claimed him with soft snores. Then, and only then, did she allow herself to doze off as well.

 

***

 

Li Bailong’s grandmother had told him this tale many times before, how loving and idealistic his older brother used to be. It simply made Li Bailong question again and again where Li Shaoming had gone wrong, exactly what had happened to transform him into the sadistic older brother he was forced to co-exist with. The change in behaviour had only happened a couple of years ago, seemingly out of the blue one day. What was different? Was it his fault? Had he somehow inadvertently trigged this side of Li Shaoming? If so, he was sorry – he would do anything to return his older brother to the way he had apparently been before.

 

He trekked downstairs, passing the oak cabinet holding items of a cultural and traditional interest, entering the dimly lit living room to check up on his mother. There she sat, unblinking and unawares, staring blankly at the flickering television set before her, a bottle of Dynasty wine clutched loosely in her hand. Li Bailong could tell she was in yet another drunken stupor, her eyes glazed over as she watched whatever show was on television at the time. Despite himself, despite the pity he felt for his mother, he also felt what he recognized as anger.

 

He felt like a shitty excuse for a son for daring to feel this way, but he couldn’t deny it; the mere sight of his mother brought tears to his eyes, and he was never sure if it was from pity or rage. ‘ _It’s her fault,’_ a voice whispered, a sinister tone reverberating in his mind, ‘ _her fault that Li Shaoming turned out this way, her fault that he torments you, her fault your father’s_ dead. _If she stood up, sobered up, and became a_ real _mother, none of this would’ve happened. She has no one to blame but herself.’_

 

“No,” Li Bailong whispered. He mustn’t go there. She cared for him, raised him, and brought him into this world. He shouldn’t have been kicking her when she was down, he should’ve been helping her up. Now was her time of weakness, the time she most needed help, her darkest hour, and yet….and yet he stood there, observing her with a mixture of pity and disgust, and contemplating how best to blame her for their misfortune. ‘ _No,’_ Li Bailong thought. _‘This is our lot in life. I must step up to the place, accept my place, and accept my responsibility.’_

 

Li Bailong entered the kitchen, fixing his mother something quick and easy to eat, coming back with a bowl of cereal. He set it down beside her on the table, watching how she never once acknowledged him.

 

“Mama, time to eat. You haven’t eaten all day, have you?” She was looking gaunt, and he wasn’t sure if it was because she wasn’t eating properly or whether it was related to her alcoholism. She didn’t budge, her eyes not moving for a second from the television. He stepped in front of the TV, blocking her sightline. She looked indifferent, vacant. Sighing, he made his way back over and leaned over her, pulling up the knitted blanket over her and tucking it in securely. Sitting beside her, head propped by his fist, he looked dejected as he conversed with his mother.

 

“Mama, I’m scared. I’m scared of Li Shaoming, I’m scared of you, and I’m also scared of me. I feel like I deserve a better life than this, but at the same time, I feel ungrateful and a brat if I acknowledge these feelings. I appreciate you, Mama, I do, but you’re better than this. And I deserve better than this. I feel as though there’s something more, something out there, for me. Something more than this life. Something… _new._ ” He looked up at her, vacant and unawares as always. “Do you know what I mean?”

 

Upon receiving no response, he sighed. Not that he expected one, anyways. “I wonder what you would do if I just ran away. What if I just walked out, left you, Li Shaoming, and this life behind? Would you do anything? Would you try to stop me? Would you even notice? Would you even care?”

 

 

He looked away, unable to look at her anymore without feeling negative. “I love you, Mama. I do.” Li Bailong leaned forward, kissing her cheek, pulling up the blanket even more, and left her to her solitude. Out of the room and into the hallway, Li Bailong was stopped by the sight of his grandmother leaning close towards the oak cabinet and peering inside. Upon spotting him, she ushered him over, bony hands on his shoulders as she pointed what she was looking at.

 

“Look here, Li Bailong. What do you see?”

 

The boy squinted, noticing the taijitu painting encapsulating the dragon and tiger locked in combat, a jade statue of the Jade Emperor, as well as the jade figurine set of the Chinese zodiac.

 

“Jade figurines? That’s nothing new, Grandmother. They’ve been in the family for quite some time.”

 

She nudged him forward a bit. “Look closer.”

 

“I see no difference.”

 

Xiao Fei sighed. “Boy, you may be as dull as your father. Do the figures seem brighter to you today? I do not recall them with quite so bright a shine in the past.”

 

Now that she mentioned it, Li Bailong _could_ see that they seemed less grimy and dirty than they usually looked. Had someone been cleaning them? If so, who?

 

He nodded, and Xiao Fei simply continued to observe them. “Intriguing, most intriguing. Interesting things may be afoot, my dear boy!”

 

 _‘Yes,’_ Li Bailong thought, as he made his way back to his room with the intent of sleep’s sweet embrace on his weary mind, ‘ _Interesting indeed, if by ‘interesting’ you mean depressing. I pray that the Jade Emperor makes it easy for us all.’_


	17. Yang 15: The Lion King

“Shit!”

 

Kyo flung himself to the side, tucking and rolling out of the path of the airborne predators. The lioness seemed to be intent on killing the boy with extreme prejudice, as her snarls struck fear into his heart. She reared, pouncing towards him with incredible speed and force, Kyo barely dodging each time.

 

The male lion seemed to be watching him, calculating him with deep, intense amber eyes as the female kept up the assault. Kyo found himself wishing he was rather facing the Kuchisake-Onna against as opposed to this – supernatural serial killers, he could deal with; deadly, blood-thirsty felines capable of mauling him with ease? No thank you. He’d take his chances with the demonic spirit.

 

Sifu Lao Shi stood atop the largest lion’s head, watching Kyo as he fought for his life. He seemed indifferent to the boy’s fate, watching with intense, cold eyes as he dashed about the area. Takamura and Haruhiko seemed to share his sentiment, and Sonic seemed cheerful, though Felipe seemed visibly disturbed.

 

“Hey, don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?” The Dragon of Life intoned, watching Kyo uneasily. “Give the kid a break. I bet he’s never even kicked a kitten, how do you expect him to hold his own against carnivorous mountain lions? He’s had no training; he’ll be killed if we don’t at least prepare him first.”

 

The King of Beasts tossed a derisive glance towards the man, answering simply. “This is his training.”

 

Around the wide expanse of space, Kyo kept evading the ever-persistent lioness, feeling the beginnings of soreness settling on his muscles. The lioness was getting closer and closer to slashing him with her razor-sharp claws, and Kyo had to cartwheel away from one of her more powerful strikes. It was then that, with surprising speed, the lioness backhanded – backpawed? – him, sending him flying towards the edge of the earthy arena. She took her time in skulking towards him, baring her jagged teeth in what seemed to be a leer. Was she mocking him?

 

Felipe looked towards the other Dragons, wondering how they could be so calm – the boy was about to die! Why weren’t they freaking out?! “He’s had enough, get him out of there!”

 

“Not just yet,” Takamura replied, still watching Kyo in earnest. She seemed to be expecting something. Felipe couldn’t see what would, aside from a very gruesome mauling of the boy.

 

Picking himself up, Kyo settled himself into what he considered a fighting pose: legs spread, one in front, one clenched fist raised by his chin, the other outwards and towards the lioness. He was tired of running, he was tired of being on the defensive, and he was tired of letting the cat do all the attacking. ‘ _If there was ever a time to have a crowning moment of awesome, it’s now,’_ Kyo thought to himself. ‘ _I’ll probably never get a chance at this again, so…’_

 

With the fist facing his feline opponent, he turned his wrist and opened his fist, beckoning his fingers in the universal ‘ _let’s fight’_ Jackie Chan gesture, before bringing his hand to brush the bridge of his nose a la Bruce Lee, resuming his pose once more. The lioness roared in response.

 

“Come and get it, kitty,” Kyo murmured, “Bring it,” and so the lioness leapt. Pulling back his fist, Kyo roared himself as he threw his entire body weight downwards into the force of the punch, following through completely as the lioness’ face met with an uncompromising punch. The lioness fell instantly, unconscious from the blow he dealt her. Kyo shook his wrist, working out the pain in his knuckles – perhaps he had sprained, if not broken, it. It was as though he had been punching solid stone. Looking down at the lioness, he blinked in surprise; he hadn’t actually expected that to work. He was about to breathe a sigh of relief until he remembered there had been a lion as well, and a split second too late – the lion’s roar was right in his ear as he spun around to see it high in the air above him. Kyo fell onto his back in surprise, he couldn’t get out of the way too fast, he was caught off guard and there was no time to react…

 

The lion was cut off mid-roar as a black slip-on shoe came into contact with its neck; someone had leapt down from above and intercepted the lion with their heel. The lion crashed into the ground, and did not stir. Kyo looked up at his saviour, squinting as the brilliant sun shone behind the person, not allowing him to make out anything aside from a hand extended towards him.

 

Taking the firm hand before him, Kyo pulled himself up, observing the person before him. It was a boy, about his age, and he dressed in a white _tangzhuang_ kung-fu uniform shirt and black bottoms. He also had an orange cloth tied around his eyes, which he removed with the other hand, revealing excited eyes, the eyes of someone who exuded energy.

 

“You wouldn’t happen to be covered in catnip, would you? These big pussy tats seemed to like you a lot.”

 

Kyo grinned back, noting that the boy was speaking English. “Must be my cologne, though I could’ve _sworn_ I left the _eau de fillet_ at home…” Shaking the hand he had taken, he added, “Thanks. I’m Kyo, by the way. Kyo Takeshi.”

 

“I am Long Dao Lee, Long or Lee is fine. What brings you to the Land of the Lions?”

 

In answer, Kyo looked towards the Dragons who were still watching him. Sifu Lao Shi was nowhere to be seen.

 

Long grinned. “Ah, another one of Lady Takamura’s protégés, eh? Where is Hatsumomo, by the way? I had been rather looking forward to seeing her again the next time Takamura-sama came about.”

 

  1. Thoughts of her weighed heavily on Kyo’s mind, bringing back that depressing mood that so often plagued him at night when he was alone with his thoughts. “She’s…ah…she’s…”



 

“She’s the reason we’re here,” Takamura interjected, gliding forward in all her grace. “She has been kidnapped, and this has resulted in the wheels of fate setting into motion a chain of events – and just as each action has a reaction, every cause will have its effect. All it takes is a single domino to fall before all soon follow suit. The Yakuza have taken she who belongs to us, and now it is time we prepare for that which is to follow. Kyo is here to learn, for his help is essential if we are to succeed.”

 

The boy bowed to Takamura, and then rose, his grin gone and a disappointed look in its place. “Ah, so Hatsumomo is in danger, I am sorry to hear that.” Turning to the other boy, he remarked, “So this was your test, as it was mine, Kyo. I just thought you were an unfortunate stranger who had lost his way, and that old Wang-Mu and Wang-Fu there” – he gestured to the lioness and the lion respectively – “were going to make mince-meat out of you. Sifu Lao Shi should really tame th—” His speech was cut off by the sharp slap of a slip-on shoe. “Ouch!”

 

“ _Idiot boy!”_ Sifu Lao Shi appeared once more, instantly before Long and his eyes were narrowed in anger. “ _Your reckless actions have disturbed the results of his test! If I were to turn him away now, it would be on_ your _head_.”

 

“Sifu! I simply meant to spare the stranger a miserable death. You taught me to speak with actions, and to communicate my desires and dreams with my fists, not my words.” Long grinned what was clearly supposed to be a winning smile, and Kyo had to suppress a snicker.

 

“If it had been a foolish wanderer, such would have been his fate. Who are you to decide whether he lives or dies?”

 

Bowing, Long responded, “The current disciple of the renowned King of Beasts, Sifu Lao Shi. I cannot bring dishonour by association to your fame – how can I call myself worthy to be your pupil if I act cowardly and do not display bravery?”

 

Sifu Lao Shi seemed to take a more contemplative expression as his gaze lurched toward Kyo. “Bravery…yes; a quality that every warrior must possess if they are to paint their destiny with the strokes of their firm fist. You managed to defeat Wang Mu. She also happens to be the most vicious of the pair.”

 

Kyo rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, wondering why he wasn’t being reprimanded for knocking out the lioness, but he wasn’t exactly about to insist upon it. His hand was still throbbing, and he waved it gingerly, remarking, “It was as though I was hitting solid stone…”

 

“And with good reason.” Sifu Lao Shi snapped his fingers, and the lion and lioness instantly stood up, returning to their post at either side of the gate. They sat down, and, much to Kyo’s amazement, solidified into stone.

 

“T-They’re _statues?!_ ”

 

Sifu Lao Shi glanced towards his former apprentice, Takamura. “You never told me he was sharp.”

 

“When it comes to the mystic arts, he’s as sharp as a dull blade,” The Daughter of the Dragon responded. “We all start out that way. But that is why I have brought him to you. You are the most straight-edge whetstone I know. How convenient for me, don’t you think?”

 

The Lord of Lions stared intensely at his protégé, a gaze she return just as firmly. “I promised to take this boy on as a favour to Yakuma, should he have passed the test. Though he was a coward, and though the test was interrupted by my idiot boy of a pupil, I have seen what I need to assess his worth as an apprentice.” He nodded towards the largest lion yet, the one from which on top he had observed Kyo’s skirmish with Wang Mu and Wang Fu.  It lumbered forward, its amber eyes locked on Kyo’s dark ones with a wildness that belied its intelligence. Sauntering over to the boy, it lowered its head so it was face to face with the smaller teen, and let out a great roar.

 

Wincing, the teen stood his ground, roaring back. The giant lion observed him for a moment, before licking his face with its rather large tongue as a sign of affection. Determined not to lose, Kyo leaned forward and licked the lion’s nose right back, letting it know it was alright in his books too. It nuzzled Kyo, burying the boy’s face in its mane as it affectionately licked him.

 

Sifu Lao Shi nodded. “So be it. Fu Shi has deemed you trustworthy. The most important aspect of a warrior that you will learn here under my tutelage is this: bravery is essential to victory. It is an inevitability in this life that one will always wander into desperate situations in which one must make unfathomable choices; naturally, as is so often the case, these choices tend to come on the heels of despair and disaster. Just when you think it cannot get any worse, you find yourself surprised time and time again, even more so when you express your inability to be surprised any further. It is in these moments that one must face the challenge that looms over them with the ferocity of a lion. To move forth and grab your destiny is admirable. To shape your own future with the strength in your fist is beyond that.

 

“It is when you are at your lowest, when you are broken and fearful of change, that you must learn to silence the voices of caution in your mind and leap forth to continue on your journey, further than you thought possible, and pounce on that prize you seek. Remember this, Kyoji of Japan,” Sifu Lao Shi said, his eyes more intense than usual, “You displayed the bravery of a lion when you stood your ground and struck down the lioness Wang Mu rather than fleeing as you had been doing. It is the bravery of the lion that enables you the lion’s share of the power. More important than all, know this: bravery begets victory.”

 

Kyo bowed, acknowledging his sensei’s words. “Hai. And now, Sensei?”

 

“ _Sifu_ Lao Shi,” the elderly man corrected. “Refer to me by my title or do not refer to me at all. I do not tolerate anything less than the utmost respect. Am I making myself clear?”

 

“Yes, Sifu. I apologize.” Kyo stroked Fu Shi’s mane while appraising his sensei for the first time as his student. The man seemed as short as ever, as intimidating and formidable despite his perceived weakness, but now Kyo saw there was more to him that that. He had seen the wisdom that Sifu Lao Shi possessed, and now Kyo saw him as not an irritable old man, but a veteran and a wise man, and, above all, a teacher who had something to offer him. Grumpy though he was, uncompromising as he may be, Kyo knew that he had finally found a man to look up to.

 

His very own father-like figure, at last.

 

The boy smiled to himself. Whatever his sifu threw at him, he would bear it. Kyo would make him proud.

 

Sifu Lao Shi nodded towards the entrance towards his mountaintop abode. “You are to familiarize yourself with the place. Long Dao Lee shall show you around and introduce you to the manner in which things are done around here. Fu Shi shall accompany you as well. As for myself, I must speak with Takamura-chan, along with Haruhiko-san and Felipe-san. Busy yourself until I have a use for you.”

 

Long grinned, indicating for Kyo to get on Fu Shi’s back by patting it. They set off for the gate to the Land of the Lions, passing by Wang Mu and Wang Fu – the guardian lions gave no indication of their passing, aside from perhaps the twinkle in their obsidian-like gem eyes. He had an odd feeling he had seen something similar to them before, and that unsettling thought settled like a weight in his mind. Pushing it to the back of his mind to worry about later, he looked to Long, who led Fu Shi and Kyo into the place that was to become his home away from home.

 

***

 

“That’s him?” Sifu Lao Shi inquired, watching the back of the boy’s head as he and Long departed with Fu Shi. “The one we were warned to look out for is _him_?” He harrumphed. “I’m disappointed. Though he displays the bravery of a lion, he looks more fit for the role of a cub.” He turned to his protégé. “What reason have you to believe he is _the one_?”

 

“ _Reasons_ ,” Takamura corrected. “You recall the prophecy, of course?” Sifu Lao Shi nodded tersely in affirmation, urging her to go on. “’The theft of innocence’ was indiscernible then, but now it seems clear – Hatsumomo was kidnapped the day _after_ this boy came into our lives. Fate deemed this an important matter none too subtle by way of Kyo. There have been signs revolving around him that seem to cement this notion.”

 

“Signs?” Felipe interjected. “Such as what? The clouds parting and light shining down from the sky, bathing Kyo in heavenly glory while an angelic choir played in the background? What could possibly have convinced you that he’s the one? Or at least one of the Children of the Zodiac?”

 

“Now, now,” Haruhiko harrumphed, “Takamura-san is very convinced of this, and you know just how determined she can be. I’m of the belief we should listen to what she has to say, she seems certain.”

 

“ _Seeming_ certain and _being_ certain are two different things, Haruhiko-san.” Sifu Lao Shi’s tone was sharp. “Takamura-chan is perfectly capable of speaking for herself. Let her answer my questions.”

 

Takamura gave Haruhiko a small smile, silently thanking him for his siding with her. Haruhiko nodded, opting to stay silent, as per Sifu Lao Shi’s wishes. Sonic seemed to gaze at Sifu Lao Shi rather fixedly, saying nothing.

 

“No, Felipe-san. The heavens did not part and shine a glorious light upon him. Though we did get the next best thing, in the form of quite the opposite: a supernatural encounter with a malevolent spirit. We’ve got our boy, signed, sealed and delivered by Kuchisake-Onna herself.”

 

“Kuchisake-Onna? I thought she only attacked children!” Haruhiko looked expectantly towards Takamura for an explanation.

 

“Normally, she would. As you know, malevolent spirits usually select their targets by going after ones with rather large spiritual energy – this is, of course, so that they may replenish their spirit and retain a semi-corporeal form. Children are excellent victims because they have relatively little to no survival skills and are often the most ‘pure’. They contain the rawest spiritual energy, an _aura_ that attracts the spirits of darkness. Kuchisake-Onna’s _modus operandi_ involves targeting children specifically, and for her to instead attack a young adult is very unusual and worth looking into. Coupled with Hatsumomo’s disappearance the next day and a warning from Misaki that the Yakuza were beginning to put into action whatever they are plotting, it is clear, beyond a doubt, that this boy’s appearance is no coincidence. He is unquestionably one of them. Kyoji Takeshi is one of the Children of the Zodiac.”

 

“You’ve made quite the name for yourself, haven’t you, Takamura-chan?” The eldest man gave his apprentice a rather critical eye. “It seems even here, in isolation on this mountaintop, the animals everywhere speak of your exploits throughout the years. You were one of my most prodigious students, my first female pupil at that, a natural talent the likes of which few have witnessed and even fewer have had the chance to hone. To think that an itako could master the martial arts despite being a female…to say the least, I was impressed.”

 

“Femininity is not weakness. Masculinity is not strength. Female or not, I proved my strength to you all those years ago. If you’d prefer, I can prove it to you again.” She drew out her sensu fan, clutching it tightly. “I wonder if this sifu of mine is as agile as he was in his youth when he earned his own titles by the might in his fists.”

 

Sifu Lao Shi gave a rare smirk. “Careful, child – I am the King of Beasts, and last I checked, dragons were beasts.”

 

Takamura looked him dead in the eye. “This dragon cannot be mastered.”

 

“Hmph. Nevertheless, it seems every silver lining has its cloud. Though you rose to fame as one of the most powerful itakos in all the lands, it seems that as a Dragon, you failed miserable in your forté. I suppose not even _you_ can do it all.”

 

The Daughter of the Dragon met his response with cold silence. It was only when he began to speak again that she cut him off brusquely.

 

“That man is dead. Speak of him no more.”

 

Sifu Lao Shi harrumphed gruffly. “It was not him to which I was referring. They died as a result of your inability to protect them. Are you sure that this is about the prophecy, _truly_ this time? Or are you simply more invested than before because your own apprentice, that Hatsumomo girl, was taken?”

 

Takamura’s eyes flashed darkly. Her long, raven hair and kimono billowed about fiercely for a moment, though there was no wind, before settling back down. “Women are just as capable of combat as men, Sifu Lao Shi.” Her tone seemed just as sharp as her sensei’s. “I would’ve thought you of all people understood that, especially when you were taught that lesson by a woman’s fist.”

 

Sifu Lao Shi’s eyes gleamed dangerously. “Do not mention that woman to me ever again.”

 

Takamura simply smiled – it did not escape her notice that Sonic’s static smile was back on his face as well. “As we’re not here to discuss her, very well, I won’t. Though I suspect she will need to be brought in on this sooner or later. At any rate, Kyo will need your help to properly prepare for his destiny. To fight for his fate – or fight his fate – which will he choose? Either way, in order to do so, he will need the tutelage of the best there is. I will leave his combat training to you.”

 

“And what of you?” Sifu Lao Shi inquired. “What have you up your rather large kimono sleeves?”

 

“Well,” Takamura began, “Combat is only one aspect of the fight. We also need to determine which of the Zodiac animals he represents and what his strengths and weaknesses are as a result. On top of this, the other Children of the Zodiac must be found, and prepared similarly, while Hatsumomo also needs to be liberated from her confinement. I’ve already got someone working on that at the moment, so let us focus upon the other Children and Kyo. It would hardly do to have the most important pieces in the game be the weakest. Though the King may be the most important, it is the Queen who is far more useful in play. I’d rather have an army of Queens than Kings.”

 

Felipe, who had been listening silently to figure out where they stood since he had last checked in with the other Dragons, spoke up. “And what of the other Dragons? We’ve got to recruit them still, and make a definitive move against the Yakuza, in order to let them _know_ we are not going to take that blow lying down – we mustn’t let them think we’re weak. All we’ve been doing lately is plotting and planning and sitting around all mysteriously in wayward taverns and isolated mountaintops. Let’s live a little for once – let’s let them know _exactly_ who they’re dealing with!”

 

Haruhiko shook his head. “No, Felipe-san. It would be wiser to move in silence, approaching quietly and suddenly like death itself. If we were to alert them to our movements, they would prepare to retaliate and things would escalate on a far quicker time table. We are not even suitably ready, and, impressive as Takamura, you, and myself may be, I highly doubt we can handle all of the Yakuza by ourselves. It is better to bide our time and wait, preparing for a more final confrontation.”

 

“Not if we take them out in _one fell swoop_.” Felipe was getting excited, his eyes shining as he got the notion stuck more and more in his head – the others could tell it would be very hard to dissuade him once he set his mind to an idea. “If we defeat them all at once, they won’t be able to retaliate and we’d have thwarted their entire operation in one go. It’s perfect!”

 

“Dragon of Life, reign in your foolishness.” Sifu Lao Shi shook his head, dismissing all of Felipe’s ideas. “You are one of the rookie Dragons; I shouldn’t have expected much competence from you. You know nearly nothing of combat, and speak as though you’ve not got a lick of sense. Perhaps you’re vying for the Dragon of Death’s domain as much as he yearns for yours – for going in ‘strong’ as you say will only result in your death. If you have outlived your usefulness, feel free to dig your own grave. Don’t expect us to join you in your foolhardiness.”

 

Felipe kept his tongue as the elder master rebuked him, desperate to preserve his pride, but having no choice but to remain silent. Sifu Lao Shi was a temperamental man, and to displease him was to basically sign up for an ass-kicking, one which Felipe had no intention of receiving.  


“His plan is not without merit.” Takamura intoned on the matter, allowing for Felipe to keep some of his pride. “Was it not you who taught me to ‘strike first, strike fast, strike strong’? Felipe has utilized this ideology into a simple, effective plan. Though he has the basic principle correct, in this specific case, it is best we gather and strengthen our resources to better our investment in this game of ours. I know the Yakuza – though they may have started their plan, they have not struck yet. It’s a gamble, but we’ve no other choice. There will be plenty of time for that later, and we will be sure to hit them where it hurts.”

 

She turned to her fellow Dragons. “In the meantime, we must accumulate our assets. The Dragons must be reined in, and the Children of the Zodiac and their guardians as well. After they have been accounted for, we must begin transforming the pawns into Queens – the only way to do so is to have them transverse the board; in other words, bring them to us, and we’ll turn them into something more useful for us. They, along with the Dragons, must be summoned first, however. Lucky for us, there are two very competent teammates for two very important tasks.” She looked at them both pointedly.

 

Felipe looked puzzled, but Haruhiko stared at her in an aghast manner. “ _You’re joking._ ”

 

“I’m not. You two need to learn to see eye to eye, and this is a very important task. I can only entrust it to you. Make haste and bring them back as swiftly as possible.”

 

“What about you?” Felipe gave her a quizzical look. “What’re you going to be up to while we’re off gathering the old gang together with these kids of the cosmos or whatever?”

 

Takamura’s eyes seemed to sparkle with mirth. “I’ll be…protecting our investment. Now hurry. Would you like some transportation?” She pulled out her kiseru from within her sleeves.

 

Haruhiko held up his hands. “Not for me, thank you.” He nodded stiffly at Sifu Lao Shi who gave him a small nod in return. “Sonic, you may stay behind to assist Takamura as she sees fit. Treat her as you would me.”

 

Sonic bowed, replying, “Absolutely, Haruhiko-sama. I will be as loyal to the Lady as I am you, for I have the utmost respect for you three Dragons.” Haruhiko nodded, and then jerked his head at Felipe before walking to the edge of the cliff and simply falling forward and out of sight.

 

Felipe laughed. “He really likes to abuse his mastery over death, doesn’t he? Jeez, if I had powers like his…” He shook his head. “I’m good on the transportation bit too, no worries on that front.”  He pulled off his wrist watch, glancing at its face – the hands didn’t move, and the number seemed stuck at 1:08 – and then pressed a button, tossing it to the ground before him.

 

Instantly, the wrist watch grew in size, changing shape and gaining mass; in a few seconds, a bright green jet stood in its place. Felipe flashed them a thumbs up before leaping into the cockpit and kick-starting it. Turning to look at Takamura, he shouted over the rumbling engine.

 

“Say goodbye to Kyo for me, won’t you? I wish him all the best of luck.”

 

“Not goodbye,” Takamura shouted back, “ _fare well._ We’ll be seeing you soon.” She pulled one of her hands out of her joined sleeves, waving at him as Sonic followed suit. He grinned, returning the gesture before flying off the edge and down after Haruhiko, the sun setting in the distant horizon.

 

Takamura watched him leave, hair blowing wildly as she stared after them for a few minutes in silence, the setting sun casting rays of light that glinted off her golden kimono. She wound up her hair in a quick and elegant bun, using her kiseru to keep it in place, before turning to Sifu Lao Shi. “Let’s go see how the boys are doing. I should hope they are getting along.”

 

“Fu Shi seems to think so,” Sifu Lao Shi responded, heading back toward the entrance with his protégé and her attendant.

 

***

 

Kyo cast a furtive look towards the elders he had left behind, wondering what their secrecy accomplished. They were on an isolated mountain top, why couldn’t they speak freely when he was in the room?

 

Long noticed Kyo’s frustration. “Hey, don’t take it to heart, Kyo,” he said sympathetically. “Sifu Lao Shi does it to me all the time – he prefers to speak with the lions that live here rather than trusting me with anything. But I don’t mind it too much. You know how the elderly just love a good gossip.” He was laughing, and soon Kyo was laughing along with him.

 

“So how long have you been here, Long?” Kyo inquired. It seemed that if he was going to be here for a while, it would be nice to have a friend. Maybe it would take his mind off Hatsumomo’s kidnapping, though he felt just a bit guilty; thinking he had the right to be happy when who knows what was happening to her seemed a bit despicable.

 

“For a while now,” Long responded, looking towards the sky in thought as he walked on. “It’s been several years since Sifu Lao Shi found me wandering about here. My parents owed a lot of money to the Chinese gang, the Triads, and so, to keep me safe, they sent me to a place where no one could usually enter – the abode of the King of Beasts. They had heard tales of the cruelty the Triads could display, and they had no choice but to abandon me for my safety. The best way to do that was to give me up so that the Triads wouldn’t be able to hurt me. I don’t know whether they are alive or not, but I am very grateful that my parents cared enough to protect me, even if it meant growing up away from them.”

 

Kyo mulled over Long’s situation, watching him from atop Fu Shi. “Do you remember them? Your parents, I mean. Do you remember what they look like or how they acted?”

 

Long faltered in his steps, unprepared for the question, but quickly regained his stride again. He didn’t turn to face Kyo as he continued forth with Fu Shi. “No,” he said softly. “I don’t. I’m nineteen now, but I was only six when they left me at the pathway, with nothing more than a letter I couldn’t read. It was only when one of the lions lurked near me that Sifu Lao Shi seemed to appear suddenly from the shadows, and question me as to what I was doing there. I told him my parents left me there, and handed him the letter. He read it over, and then took me back to his home at the top. I’ve been training here ever since. He’s the only father I’ve ever known, and this is the only home I’ve ever had.” The grin he gave to Kyo when he turned around was a miserable façade; it was a broken smile, one that was as hollow as he had ever seen, but Kyo said nothing and smiled back. “The King of Beasts’ Kid. I’m that much, at least. Not bad, eh?”

 

Kyo nodded, going along with Long’s words – he wasn’t going to take away what little solace he had. “Everyone calls Sifu Lao Shi the ‘King of Beasts.’ Do you know how he got that name?”

 

“Do I _ever_ ,” Long responded, suddenly more upbeat. “Legend has it that when he was in his youth, a young man known as Lao Shi of the Fist had defeated every powerful master of martial arts he had encountered. He sought to find someone with whom he could fight all out with, as he deemed even those who were masters at their art inadequate with his judgmental fist. His signature move was to swat away an attack with his hand, and then use the side of that same hand to knock his opponent’s head flat towards the ground, forcing them to bow against their will with a single strike. He questioned who thought they were capable of presenting him with a challenge, but no others came forth to challenge him.

 

“Back then, Sifu Lao Shi was an incredibly arrogant kung fu guy – not to say that he isn’t now. He held a tournament, inviting all those who deemed themselves capable and he defeated them all with ease, all except this one guy – a Japanese wanderer named Shishou Sensei of the Leg, who fought primarily with his feet. Those two were pretty evenly matched, and he was the only man Sifu Lao Shi ever respected as an equal. They became best friends, an inseparable pair of vitriolic best buds. They were each other’s rivals, equals, confidantes, and they were the most powerful young men in the area.

 

“Due to their unrivalled prowess in combat, they were often compared regularly to animals as opposed to men. This gave Shishou the idea to challenge Lao Shi to a bet: they would battle against many animals in the wild, no weapons, and whoever remained standing would be the better amongst them and receive bragging rights. It was agreed upon, and they ventured to an isolated, open-planed island with a large concentration of exotic and deadly animals. Chief among them were lions, snakes, and other dangerous predators. They both fought individually against large groups of bears, a pride of lions, jaguars, serpents, reptiles, and insects, amongst others.

 

“Sifu Lao Shi was holding his own, and even overpowering these animals, just as Shishou Sensei was doing. They had been at it for twelve days, non-stop, and it was only when the thirteenth day dawned that they both began to tire and decide to put an end to it. Just as a snake darted forward, as Sifu Lao Shi smacked it back down, a lion leapt from behind, dragging its claws deep into the flesh of Sifu Lao Shi’s back. It’s said that that lion was the only creature to ever injure Sifu Lao Shi, and that he has an X-shaped scar on his back to this day. Due to the lion being the only one to wound him, he gained an immense respect for them and made them his personal familiars – he became known as the King of Beasts for his feat with Shishou Sensei, and more specifically as the Lord of Lions because of his fondness of them; they also served to come to symbolize his strength and bravery in fighting so many wild animals to gauge his strength.

 

“In the end, not even beasts could defeat Sifu Lao Shi, nor Shishou Sensei. It’s said that Shishou Sensei turned in surprise when he heard Sifu Lao Shi get slashed, and a bear took that opportunity to slash him across the face as well. A single scar is said to appear right across the bridge of his nose, spanning across his cheeks. I’ve heard Sifu Lao Shi laugh to himself, as odd and rare as that is to see, about how at least his scar is not normally visible, which makes it seem that Shishou Sensei lost their wager. Shishou Sensei seems to wear it as a badge of a proud warrior.”

 

Kyo was grinning madly. “That’s so cool. Our sensei, besting even _beasts_. Do you know which lion did it?”

 

“As a matter of fact I do. And, as a matter of fact, you’re riding him right now.”

 

Fu Shi roared in confirmation of Long Dao Lee’s words.

 

Kyo scratched Fu Shi’s mane, laughing, “I don’t think I could’ve asked for a cooler teacher even if I tried.”

 

“Cool, yes. That doesn’t necessarily negate the harshness of his training, however. You’re going to _hate_ the pebble exercise.”

 

“What,” Kyo scoffed, “do I have to snatch it from his palm?”

 

Long shook his head. “You’d wish it was that easy, Kyo-kun. I know I did.”

 

“-Kun?” Kyo wondered how a Chinese boy knew Japanese honourifics. “How do you know that? And Sifu Lao Shi, at that?”

 

“Sifu Lao Shi picked it up from Takamura-sama when she used to train under him – he uses it affectionately with her. I picked it up from him, and I think they’re cute. Japanese things are fascinating to me, I don’t know why, but they’re just _sugoi_.”

 

Kyo laughed. “Yes, perhaps they are _awesome_.”

 

“So, which of the Zodiac are you?”

 

“Zodiac?”

 

Long paused, turning to look at the boy incredulously. “You mean… _you don’t know?_ Surely you’ve heard the story?” He shook his head, laughing. “I guess not, then. It’s a tale as old as time, and we don’t have much – I’m supposed to be showing you around the place. Story time can wait.”

 

“No fair!” Kyo protested. “You can’t bring it up and then shove it under the carpet like that!”

 

“Alright, alright, I’ll say this much,” Long announced, raising his index finger dramatically. “It’s the very reason you’re here in the first place. Sifu Lao Shi’s been expecting you.”

 

“I thought I was here so I could help rescue Hatsumomo.” Kyo started to get an ominous feeling – must _everyone_ keep everything from him?

 

Long waggled his finger. “Trust me, there’s more to it than that. Much more.”

 

“And you know this _how_ …? I thought Sifu Lao Shi didn’t tell you anything.”

 

“He didn’t. His lions did. He knows how to communicate with them, and, after living with him basically all my life, I was bound to pick up how to speak kitty-cat. He doesn’t know yet.”

 

“Doesn’t he?” came the booming voice, and Long flinched instantly. “I know everything that goes on in this place. Have you even shown him anything around here?”

 

“Yes, Sifu,” he responded sheepishly, pointing to places, “I showed him the sanctuary, the Water of the Wise, and I was just about to show him to the temple palace.” Kyo noted these were all places within viewing distance from where they stood.

 

Sifu Lao Shi eyed him sharply, before sharing a nod with Takamura who accompanied him. “That is where we shall go next, before showing him the sleeping quarters and the training area. We need to determine which Zodiac animal spirit he represents.”

 

“Wait, where’s Felipe? And Haruhiko-sama?”

 

“Busy, as you soon will be,” Takamura responded swiftly. “They’ll be back when they can. Come along now.”

 

Kyo felt his anger bubbling suddenly, blowing his temper like an active volcano. “ _No! You’ve been hiding things from me and I’m sick of it. I want to_ know _what the hell is going on! I’ve been dragged from continent to continent, trekked a mountain, fought off lions, and no one’s even told me_ why! _I care for Hatsumomo, I do, but I’m not going to take another step until someone tells me what in blue blazes is going on!”_

 

Sifu Lao Shi seemed amused, as though he were impressed that Kyo had spoken to them in such a manner. Takamura’s eyes locked onto Kyo’s, staring him down; the boy felt a prickle of fear, but stood his ground. Sonic spoke softly.

 

“Takamura-sama, I feel as though we haven’t been entirely fair to Kyo – it is true that we haven’t offered him much in the way of an explanation and have brought him places without his consent first. Perhaps an explanation will make him more receptive to his destiny?”

 

Takamura sighed. “My apologies, Kyoji. With all that’s been happening, and Hatsumomo’s kidnapping, I have been less considerate and even-tempered than I would have liked. It was my intention to have everything explained once we reached the Lion’s Lodging – the temple of the Lord of Lions. We’re headed there now, so if you’d wait a bit more, Kyo, your questions will be answered.”

 

Kyo hesitated, before nodding. They merged groups and headed down the path straight forward, deeper into Sifu Lao Shi’s mountaintop residence. There were buildings and structures all about, but most prominent were the beasts that lingered about. The path through the courtyard before them was heavily blocked by animals of all kinds, but they parted to allow passage to the group of six, watching the procession intently with intelligent eyes.

 

An ornate temple of golden intensity dominated horizon, the courtyard’s pathway leading up to the brilliant door. On either side of the door were two statues, much like Wang Mu and Wang Fu. Both had a single paw raised, the left one’s right paw and the right one’s left paw respectively.

 

Inside the temple, Sifu Lao Shi and Takamura crossed to the small, golden table before them, sitting on the side facing them. Kyo, Long and Sonic sat before them, and Takamura spoke first.

 

“You asked for answers, Kyo. You have half of them already.” She produced her kiseru from within her sleeve, lighting it her breath-produced flames, and inhaled, blowing out a smokey cloud that took form once more. Takamura spoke, and the smokey mist formed to her words. “You recall the prophecy I reminded Haruhiko about? Understanding that prophecy is pivotal to our journey. However, in order to understand that, you must understand the concept of duality.”

 

“Which he will, if he is to learn under my tutelage,” Sifu Lao Shi intoned. “Otherwise he will be unable to apply his learning to his life.”

 

“And he shall.” The smoke seemed to congeal into something a large circle, taking on the colours of white and black. The circle looked as though two thick commas were flowing into each other; there was a small amount of white, a circle, within the black, and the same held true for the white in the form of a small amount of black. “Do you recognize this, Kyo?”

 

“It’s a _taijitu_ ,” he responded, “the symbol most associated with the concept of _yin and yang_ , central to the Taoist belief as discussed in Chinese philosophy.” Upon her slight surprise, he shrugged. “And as discussed in school.”

 

“Yes. Then you should know that the _taijitu_ represents balance, moderation, and equality. Two opposing forces that are not as different as we think – they complement each other, in fact. There are many applications to the ideology of _yin and yang_. Light and Dark; Day and Night; Good and Evil; Black and White; Order and Chaos; Love and Hate; Joy and Sorrow; Hot and Cold; Hard and Soft; Wet and Dry, and a whole host of others things. There are countless examples of _yin and yang_ in the world, but chief among them are these three: Light and Dark, White and Black, and, most importantly, Good and Evil. There must always be a balance within these, for nothing in excess can bode well for all.

 

“Since the dawn of time, there has always been Good and there has always been Evil. The first battle between the two forces occurred back when the treacherous Generals under the reign of Nu Kua, the Dragon Goddess, rebelled for they thought her weak. Nu Kua, with the help of giants, drove back her rogue subordinates, and banished them from the heavens. Their allies, demons of water and fire, were banished to Hell and subsequently caused the gods to seal off the netherrealm from accessing either Heaven or Earth. With the power generated from sealing away the underworld, the souls from the rogue Generals were also sealed away in a golden box entitled _Pandora’s Box_.

 

“This artifact sealed the Generals’ souls in a jewel-like form, their powers stripped from them and instead imbued into the newly-created _Seven Sacred Gems of the Gods,_ seven gemstones in a myriad of rainbow colours – red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple and pink. Their souls and powers bound to the gems that were hidden in Pandora’s Box before their banishment, the immortal Generals swore by the sun and the moon to gain revenge against Nu Kua and those that supported her. Since then, they have been scouring the Earth for all of eternity, looking to restore their souls and powers, hoping to one day disgrace the Dragon Goddess the way they had been.”

 

“Let me guess,” Kyo said, a sense of foreboding overtaking him, “they’re related to the Yakuza.”

 

Takamura raised a sharp eyebrow. “You’re more perceptive than I gave you credit for, Kyo. Yes, they are. I assume through your observation, you’ve already deduced that throughout the centuries, they have been corrupting humans and spreading their vengeful ideology. Though the Yakuza’s intentions were once noble, acting as peace-brokers, when there was no longer a need for them, the Generals managed to corrupt them and turn their desires and greed into the most effective weapons against them. Since then, the Yakuza has been the plaything of the Generals and a tool with which to carry out their plans. That was the reason it was pivotal to have agents such as Haruhiko and Sonic on the inside, the reason I myself was once a member of the Yakuza. They are also aware of the prophecy, and seem to have interpreted it to reach the same conclusion I did.”

 

Kyo had to voice his concern. “Okay, but how did they know Hatsumomo was the innocence they were talking about? And what, do they need the blood sacrifice of a virgin to get their nefarious plans on the road?” It slipped out his mouth, and a bright blush crawled across his cheeks. He had no idea if that was true, nor was it his business.

 

“If I may?” Sonic inquired, looking towards Takamura for approval. She nodded. “I wonder if this has to do with Hatsumomo’s family. I don’t believe we should divulge details about them to him, as I think knowledge that personal should be hers to bestow upon him and whomever else she sees fit when she is ready. “

 

“Agreed,” Takamura acknowledged, nodding in approval once more. “The details are hers, but the gist is this: Hatsumomo’s had a rough life, and as a result, she lives with me. To those who know her, Hatsumomo is the personification of innocence – her experiences have humbled her enough to truly understand what true purity is. I suspect the mafia know this, and seized the opportunity to put their plot into action. This is where you come in.”

 

“Where do I fit into all of this?” Finally, Kyo felt a nervous sort of excitement. This is the moment he figured out what Takamura meant by “his role in the game.”

 

“You are one of the twelve Children of the Zodiac.”

 

Kyo stared at her blankly.

 

Sifu Lao Shi harrumphed. “I think you’ve gone and fried his brain, Takamura-chan. Looks to me like you need to find another ward to fill in.”

 

Takamura gave Kyo a measured look, awaiting his response. “Kyo?”

 

“I’m a what?”

 

“One of the twelve Children of the Zodiac. Are you aware of the Chinese Zodiac?”

 

Kyo racked his brains. “You mean the wheel that has the 12 Animals? That’s all I remember.”

 

The smoky figure of the taijitu reformed into a larger wheel, divided into twelve sections, each with an animal within their own parts. “Perhaps Sonic would like to tell the tale.”

 

Sonic nodded. “I do love a good story. It would be better if I had visual aids.”

 

Takamura waggled the kiseru pipe. “I’ll handle those.”

 

“Very well.” Sonic closed his mesmerizing turquoise eyes, remembering, before opening them and beginning the story. “Legend has it that long ago, the Jade Emperor, the Supreme Authority of the Heavens, had decided to hold a grand event, known as the Great Race. At the meeting for which he held, he explained each of the animals would be forever memorialized in the form of the 12-year period recurring calendar-like Zodiac cycle in the order in which they finished. However, there was a catch: though there were thirteen animals invited, only twelve would make it onto the Zodiac. Amongst the invited, the following were included: the Rat, the Ox, the Tiger, the Rabbit, the Dragon, the Snake, the Horse, the Goat, the Monkey, the Rooster, the Dog, the Pig, and the Cat.” Smoke solidified into a large, jade-coloured and elegant figure towering above the thirteen animals.

 

“The next day dawned, and with it, the day of the Great Race. From one shore to the other, the animals must travel to attain their place in the Zodiac. The Jade Emperor gave the signal, and the race began. The jovial Ox was the best swimmer, and he was swift to kindly agree to take the clever Rat and the even-tempered Cat on his back as he waded through river, against the strong current. When they had reached the halfway point, however, the Rat’s treachery revealed itself when he pushed the Cat off the Ox’s back and into the river – the Rat knew that, like itself, the Cat was a terrible swimmer.” The smoke reconfigured itself into a large blue section to represent the river, and the smaller animals wading across it. The figure that represented the Cat was knocked off by the Rat, and the Cat thrashed about, attempting to avoid drowning.

 

“It was not long before the Ox reached the shore, but just before he did, the Rat leapt off and scurried ahead, securing the first place in the Zodiac. The Ox trotted onto the shore not long after him, becoming the second animal in the calendar.” There was now a shore, with the Rat and the Oxen, along with the Jade Emperor, awaiting the other animals. “Soon after the Ox, the Tiger made its appearance, tired but successful in securing itself the third place position. He explained to the Jade Emperor how the river’s currents were incredibly strong, attempting to push the Tiger downstream, but with his powerful strength, it managed to push past the obstacle and finish the race.” The Tiger was shown lumbering past the powerful river and onto the shore with the others.

 

Sonic’s eyes focused on the smoke’s scenery before him, much like Kyo was doing. Sifu Lao Shi’s eyes were closed, though he seemed to be listening. “The Rabbit soon joined the victors, explaining how it hopped across the river from one stone to the other, though it almost fell and would’ve surely lost, had it not managed to land on a log that floated to shore. It was now the fourth animal in the Zodiac. The Dragon appeared not too long after, and the Jade Emperor was most curious as to how the Dragon, who could fly, had failed to secure first place. The Dragon was a generous creature, and explained how it had paused to bring down rain from the sky for the humans and plants that depended on it, and that took time. As he was about to complete the race, he spotted a rabbit about to drown on a log in the middle of the fierce river and displayed his kindness once more, giving it a puff of breath to push the log to shore and the rabbit to safety. The Jade Emperor, pleased with the Dragon’s good deeds, awarded him the fifth place in the Zodiac.” The Rabbit and the Dragon joined the other animals’ ranks on the shore, and a beaming Jade Emperor was depicted.

 

“The sound of galloping indicated the approach of the Horse; unbeknownst to him, the Snake was coiled around its leg. The sudden realization frightened the Horse immensely, allowing the Snake the opportunity to snag the sixth place for itself, with the Horse coming in seventh. A while later, the Goat, Monkey and Rooster landed on shore, coming in eighth, ninth, and tenth place respectively. Their tale accounted for how they helped each other and worked together as a team, the Rooster spotting and taking the other two with it on a raft, and the Goat and Monkey clearing weeds, maneuvering their way to shore. The Jade Emperor was pleased with their cooperation.” The Goat, Monkey and Rooster accompanied the other seven animals, awaiting the final two.

 

“The day was growing into night, and the light was fading. The Dog came along, laughing and rough-housing with the other animals, exclaiming he had been playing in the river and couldn’t resist the temptation to have fun for a while longer. In addition, it had been a while since the Dog had bathed, so it took that opportunity to do so. He made it into the Zodiac in the eleventh position, by the skin of his canine teeth. The Jade Emperor was about to finalize the Zodiac with those animals present, but with an oink and a trot, the Pig made its appearance just before the Jade Emperor did so. By way of an explanation, the Pig revealed how it had come across a feast, and, realizing it was hungry, decided to indulge in its gluttony. The feast caused the Pig to fall asleep soon after, and upon waking up, continued the race. It finished off the Zodiac, becoming the twelfth and final animal in the line-up.” The Dog and Pig made their way to shore, and the Jade Emperor waved his smoky arm, creating a small Zodiac he displayed to the animals.

 

“What about the Cat?” Kyo inquired. “He’d been cheated, what happened?”

 

“There wasn’t much he could do. The Cat managed to get to shore after the Great Race had drawn to a conclusion, and the Zodiac had been chosen. It is said that the Rat’s cheating of the Cat is the reason why cats are their natural enemy, chasing them on sight.” The smoke showed the Cat chasing the Rat in circles, hard fury etched in every whisker on its face. Takamura produced her sensu fan from her golden kimono sleeve, and blew the smoke out of existence, dissipating into invisibility.

 

“Now that you are familiar with the Zodiac, and the prophecy, you should have noticed a correlation between them. The prophecy spoke of how ‘ _through the efforts of the twelve shall the destined deeds be done_ _’,_ and made specific mention to the Daughter of the Ox and the Son of the Snake; a clever girl and a wise boy. I now believe that the Daughter of the Ox was referring to the Hatsumomo, and the Son of the Snake is referring to you.”

 

Kyo had remembered a particular line from the prophecy when Takamura had reminded Haruhiko of it – “ _from the serpent that sheds its bonds shall come a wise son” –_ because the imagery had displayed a young boy crawling from the snake’s shed skin. He had thought of his father then, but dismissed it rather quickly for his father was useless to him, if he could even be considered his father in any sense other than the biological. But now, when Takamura brought it up, he couldn’t help but feel as though she were making a crazy sort of sense. He closed his eyes, taking in her words.

 

“Kyo?”

 

“Hold on,” he replied. “I’m trying to savour this moment. It’s the closest I’m ever going to get to being told “ _You’re a wizard, Kyo_ ,” and that prophecy is the closest thing I’m ever going to get to a Hogwarts letter.” He inhaled deeply, sighing. “This is my wizard moment.”

 

Sonic chuckled, catching the reference. Takamura simply looked politely bemused.

 

After a minute, he opened his eyes and caught Takamura’s gaze. “The prophecy said that ‘a hero shall rise, aided by a Whisperer of Death.’ As an itako, a literal communicator with the deceased, it’s clear you’re the Whisperer of Death. Does that mean I’m that hero?”

 

“You stumbled into our lives a day before innocence was taken. I do not believe that it was a coincidence.”

 

Kyo sighed. “This is a lot to take in you know. It’s cool and all, but now I’ve got the fate of the world resting on my shoulders – I’m just a kid, what do I know?”

 

“You _know_ that, due to Kuchisake-Onna targeting you, Hatsumomo is not the only pure one. Malevolent spirits target those of pure heart and strong spiritual energy. Her attack on you solidified that as a factor in your being the prophetic hero. Sifu Lao Shi and I are here to bring you up to scratch, so that you may rise to meet the occasion with a new title as a hero.”

 

He nodded. “Alright, so what’s next? Do we begin my training from hell?”

 

“No.” Sifu Lao Shi spoke. “We must first verify that you are indeed whom we suspect you to be. There is a test administrable to those suspected of being the Children of the Zodiac to figure out which animal they represent. Though you’ve displayed yourself clever and aware, typical signs of the Snake, those alone are not enough to verify your identity. We must also determine your elemental association.”

 

“I’ve already an idea of which element he corresponds to,” Takamura noted, “but we’ll confirm that soon enough.”

 

Seeing the questioning look in his eye, Sifu Lao Shi explained. “Everyone capable of the mystic arts has an elemental association, a natural inclination or proclivity towards a certain element. With proficiency, some may even learn multiple elements, though it is exceedingly difficult and exceptionally rare for someone to master all of them. I assume you’ve seen Takamura’s fiery breath – that is one manifestation of her elemental association of fire.”

 

“Oh,” Kyo remembered, “like Hatsumomo had for water? She used water and ice to defeat the Kuchisake-Onna, trapping it in a frozen prison.”

 

“Hatsumomo used _ice_?” Takamura seemed impressed. “She hasn’t total mastery of water yet, though I recall it was a rainy day – you sogged up my ornate Chinese carpet.” Her tone seemed to be reproachful, and she gave him a sharp look as his sheepish gaze shied away.

 

“Regardless, we’re not here to discuss your _ornate Chinese carpet_ ,” Sifu Lao Shi gruffed. “We’re here to determine his identity.” Reaching his hand into the mouth of the reclining Fu Shi, he pulled out a full deck of cards. Each was blank, alternating between black and white. While he spread them out on the table, Sonic spotted Kyo’s wonder at from whence the cards had been produced.

 

“As Sifu Lao Shi’s familiar, Fu Shi shares a special connection with him – he is no ordinary lion. He’s what’s called a ‘guardian lion’. As a guardian lion, he may also act as a carrier of a pocket dimension, where objects of critical or relevant importance to the owner may be stored. After all, not many would be suspect that a lion to carry things in its stomach.”

 

“These are the cards given to us by the seer of the prophecy,” said Sifu Lao Shi. “If you are truly amongst the Children of the Zodiac, these special cards shall determine your fate.” He gestured to them. “Pick one up.”

 

The boy hesitated, hand hovering over them before selecting one on instinct. He pulled it out of the deck, and looked at it.

 

It was blank.

 

Puzzled at the lack of information, he glanced to Takamura. “It’s plain.”

 

“For now,” Takamura nodded. “Grasp it tightly and close your eyes. Focus upon the card, and flow your chi into it – impart your soul on it, so that the card may reveal who you truly are.”

 

“How do I do that?”

 

“Within every body, there is an entire system of networks and connections that supply chi to every part of the body. Most everyone is born with the potential for the mystic arts – however, in order to prevent injury, certain nodes of power are locked from birth. To access one’s true power and excel in the mystic or elemental arts, one must gain mastery over the opening and closing of these ‘power portals’ through training, in order to gain the ‘key’ to these ‘locks’. For now, you’ve displayed sufficient enough chi control to do this simple enough task. Think of it as opening a faucet: let the chi flow from your hand to the card.”

 

Closing his eyes, Kyo visualized it in his mind’s eye, focusing all his mental strength on the card he was holding. Soon enough he felt it suddenly grow hot in his hand, and he dropped it, not because it was scalding, but out of surprise. Picking up the card, he was surprised to see it emblazoned with an image of a brilliant green snake. Flipping it over, he saw a great blazing fire. Staring at it, Kyo felt as though he was looking at definitive proof of something he had been worried about: for better or worse, he was now inextricably linked to this prophecy he had heard so much about, and now his fate was intertwined with those of, not only Hatsumomo and Takamura, but also Sonic and Haruhiko and Felipe and Sifu Lao Shi. They were all in it together.

 

Kyo placed the card on the table, in view of everyone. Takamura smiled, Sonic nodded, and Sifu Lao Shi simply closed his eyes.

 

“So it is decided,” Kyo acknowledged finally. “It’s me.”

 

Takamura was beaming. “I was right about you, Kyo. I knew there was something special about you when you came into my saké shop, I felt you were different from the others. You are the one I’ve been waiting for a long time. You are the only one who can handle this. You are a hero.”

 

Kyo nodded, giving measured breaths so he would have time to process this. “The cards,” he said, “The cards, how do they work? What if I picked up the right one by accident?”

 

“Impossible,” Sifu Lao Shi declared. “Among the 52 cards, only twelve of them were actual cards, one for each of the Zodiac. Furthermore, even if you did pick the card with the Snake by accident, it would only have revealed itself if the correct Child’s chi ran through it. You are without a doubt the Snake of the Zodiac, and, by the looks of it, you have an innate affinity for fire, much like Takamura-chan.”

 

“Hatsumomo was right, then,” Takamura said, Kyo gazing at her in surprise.

 

“What do you mean?” he inquired. “What was she right about?”  


“She told me all about your encounter with the Kuchisake-Onna when you went upstairs, that first night you spent at my inn,” she revealed. “After Hatsumomo had set up the explosive seals, she went outside to fetch you, only to witness an enormous burst of flames that engulfed the Slit-Mouthed Woman, Kuchisake-Onna and she was surprised that the fire came from you. Coupled with other suspicions I had about you that were recently verified, I had suspected that if you were indeed one of the Children of the Zodiac, your elemental affinity would correlate with that fixed status of your sign. Much like you, the Snake had a proclivity for fire. Though I suspect you cannot actively control it, as you are now.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“She means that the only reason you were able to produce such intense flames to keep Kuchisake-Onna at bay, without any prior training, would have been that you were in a life or death situation and instinct took over,” Sonic clarified. “In a moment of self-preservation, your chi points opened up, allowing you temporary access to your inner strength so that you could defeat the immediate threat. It’s basically an enhanced version of the _fight or flight_ response. Your other senses would’ve become sharper as well, due to more life-energy-vitalizing chi flowing in your system.”

 

Kyo recalled he had seemed to wear off most of the physical repercussions of being drunk, with no reason given at the time. The pieces were starting to fall together.

 

“You can breathe fire, Kyo?!” Long’s eyes grew wide in amazement. “That’s so _sugoi!_ ”

 

Takamura raised a curious eyebrow, but Kyo shrugged. “Yeah, it happened once. But enough about that. I’m the ‘Son of the Snake’, and Hatsumomo is the ‘Daughter of the Ox’. What about the other ten? Is that where Felipe and Haruhiko went, to collect the rest of them?”

 

“Without us telling you, you managed to piece it together,” Takamura mused. “You seem as shrewd as the Snake.”

 

“And another question…if you knew Hatsumomo was the most ‘innocent person’ you knew, why didn’t you protect her? Surely the Yakuza would abduct her first chance they got.”

 

“Because,” she explained patiently, “Hatsumomo is her own, grown woman. I have raised her, and protected her until that very moment. Even though she is as innocent as they come, I could not have known that the prophecy was referring to her _specifically._ Regardless, the thought had crossed my mind, which is why I prepared for the possibility. Haruhiko and Sonic weren’t my only agents on the inside of the Yakuza. And, as I said before, debts can be paid in more ways than one. She’s fine, as long as she keeps her cool.”

 

Takamura’s words helped to put some of Kyo’s doubts at ease. He trusted Takamura, she was definitely worthy of it. Sighing, he looked at them head on. “You know I know nothing, right? I know no martial arts; I know no fancy skills or interesting quirks perfectly suited for the job. I’m a beginner in the most basic sense – and now I’ve got the fate of the world resting on my shoulders. I’m just a kid…what can I do?”

 

After a moment’s silence, Takamura replied softly. “Young though you may be, you’re all the more powerful because of it. You’ve your whole life ahead of you, and the power to touch the lives of countless. Your youth, energy, drive, motivation, passion – all these will have a hand in ensuring our success. Just as the seasons change, so does the flow of power and the times: the previous generation is always succeeded by the next one. It is now, entering into the prime of your life, that you hold the most sway. You are full of talent, Kyo, and full of dreams that you would like to see blossom into reality. You have the power and the responsibility to pave the way for future generations, for the kids of the future – that is what you, as ‘just a kid’, can do. A hell of a lot more than us old people, that’s for sure.”

 

“I think that’s enough discussion for tonight,” Sifu Lao Shi murmured. The sun had long since set, and they’d been talking well into the night. “Your training will begin in the morning, at the crack of dawn. I suggest you sleep well before then, Kyoji of Japan. If you do not appear at the training grounds minutes before sunrise, I will send Wang Mu to fetch you, and neither she nor I will be pleasant to deal with.” With that, he once again stood atop Fu Shi, who lumbered out of the room into the darkness.

 

Takamura rose elegantly, hands hidden within the folds of her kimono sleeves once more, and she studied Long subtly before speaking to Kyo. “A word of warning: I once made the mistake of sleeping in when Sifu Lao Shi explicitly told me not to. There are few decisions I regret.” She smiled ruefully. “That was one of them.” Nodding to Sonic, she said, “Come along,” before disappearing with a swish of her golden kimono. Sonic smiled genially towards the two boys before following his mistress.

 

“C’mon,” Kyo said, “show me where we sleep. I’m tired as hell, and trekking a mountain in the high sun all day is not fun, let me tell you. I’m ready to sleep.”

 

Long had a faraway look in his eyes. “Long?” Kyo asked. “You in there?”

 

The Chinese boy shook his head. “Sorry. I’m still just caught up in the fact you can breathe fire.” Laughing, he motioned to Kyo to follow him as they made their way towards their sleeping quarters.

 

***

 

Thirty minutes later, after he had settled down, he had Long point him in the direction of Takamura’s chambers. As he followed the dimly lit corridors, he heard someone singing softly. It was a beautiful voice, soft and melodic, but also full with powerful emotion and a certain _je ne sais quoi_ that indicated great joy now drowned in sorrows. The angelic voice was quiet, almost as though it was singing to itself, and Kyo crept closer, listening in. The words, which seemed familiar, took a few moments before he placed it.

 

It was a Mariah Carey song, wasn’t it? _We Belong Together,_ he believed. The voice sounded oddly familiar, though he was sure he had never heard it before. He listened in, trying to place it.

 

It struck him that the voice was coming from Takamura’s chambers. No…it couldn’t be…could it? Sidling up to the door, Kyo placed his ear against it, trying to compare the voice to Takamura’s.

 

The voice stopped, and Kyo hesitated, wondering whether or not to interrupt or knock. The decision was made for him, however, when the door opened to reveal Sonic, who gestured him in. Stunned, Kyo entered, spotting Takamura wearing a pink _yukata_ with a brighter pink obi sash, her long, raven hair let down and pushed back by a pink hairband. She was sitting on her knees, back towards the door, staring at the kiseru on the small table before her.

 

“Kyo,” she acknowledged as Sonic closed the door. She didn’t turn to face him. “What brings you here in the dead of the night?”

 

“How’d you know it was me?”

 

“I have eyes and ears everywhere, Kyo. You should know I have a knack for gathering information. What’s on your mind?”

 

“I wanted to talk to you about what’s going to happen, but I got distracted by some very beautiful singing.” Biting his lip, he decided to bite the bullet. “Was it your voice?”

 

She was silent, and Sonic spoke instead. “It was mine, actually. I was just telling Takamura about some of my favourite Western music, and she was courteous enough to oblige my penchant for that sort of thing.”

 

“Er…not to be rude, but it sounded far too soft and…womanly to be a man’s. No offense.”

 

Sonic smiled. “None taken. I have another hidden talent: I can imitate voices perfectly. Takamura bet me that I couldn’t match her voice note for note, so I decided to sing with her voice to show her I could.” Clearing his throat, he spoke again, albeit in perfect imitation of Kyo’s voice this time. “Though I doubt you’d believe me.”

 

Kyo’s eyes widened. “Whoa…that’s so cool. You’ll have to teach me how to do that.”

 

Sonic nodded, but said no more. Takamura’s voice caused Kyo to focus on her again.

 

“What is it you wished to speak to me about, Kyo?”

 

Hesitating, he answered, “About my role in this ‘saving the world from evil forces’ thing. I just…I feel like it’s a lot of responsibility, and I’m basically a good for nothing guy who can’t even keep a relationship. How can I maintain the balance of the world and keep evil from winning?”

 

“With our help. You’re here for a reason.”

 

“But…” He sighed.

 

“Kyo. _How_ you’re going to do it is not what is bothering you right now, is it?” When her question was met with silence, Takamura went on. “Tell me, Kyo: are you afraid?”

 

He paused, considering. “…Yes,” he answered truthfully. “I’m scared.”

 

“Good.” She could tell he was confused, so she elaborated. “It is a good thing you feel fear, Kyo. It means you are human. It means that you are not so big a fool that you consider every battle won before you’ve fought it. To feel fear solidifies that you are well aware of the risks and take them into account in your actions, meaning you are thoroughly prepared as opposed to foolishly reckless. Folly is the cousin of Courage; Caution, the cousin of Fear. There is a thin line between bravery and foolishness, Kyo; you would do well to remember that.

 

“The fact you feel fear reinforces that you are not as big a fool as one can be. It is better to be humble than horribly mistaken. It is better to be cautious than dead. Had you been not worried and afraid about the task you must undertake, it would have underlined just how unfit you would be for the dangerous road ahead. Worry not about your fears, Kyo, for they mean you are wise beyond your years.”

 

Kyo nodded. Takamura knew what to say to get him to worry less – he no longer felt ill at ease. Silence lingered over the room for a minute or so, before he broke the silence.  
  
“It’s really happening, isn’t it? Hatsumomo is gone and the Yakuza are planning something big and the rogue Generals are looking for the Seven Sacred Gems of the Gods. We’re really going to wage war against them? These are _immortals_ – do we really stand a chance?”

 

“Immortal means ‘live forever’ – not ‘unable to be defeated’. Even so, if it comes down to it, there are ways of dealing with immortals. We may be going to war, but this is the planning stages. We must first recruit our allies and train our soldiers.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “And if we are to train them, they must rest in order to prepare. You’ve a long day ahead of you – trust me. You’re going to hate the pebble exercise.”

 

“Jeez,” Kyo sighed, “Long told me the same thing. It can’t be _that_ bad, can it?”

 

“Worse.”

 

Kyo hung his head. “Perfect.”

 

Takamura picked up her kiseru, lighting it. “It’s four in the morning, Kyo. Sunrise is in two hours.” Inhaling deeply, she sighed, smoke exhaled through her nose. “I suggest you make the most of your nap. You’ll need it.”

 

Kyo nodded, returning to his chambers as Sonic showed him out, closing the door behind him. The blond attendant turned towards the strikingly beautiful Japanese woman before him, proposing a thought on his mind.

 

“Kyo seems wiser than your previous wards. I have a good feeling about him.”

 

Takamura exhaled some more smoke, more than she had seemed to inhale from her kiseru. “Yes, he does seem to be quite clever. I’m sure that’ll come in handy. He does come across as cleverer than them…all except one. It’s a shame he died.” Her voice seemed to become bitter at the thought of his loss.

 

“I suppose it’s as you said, Takamura-sama. There must always be a balance.”

 

“If only such prodigious talent hadn’t been the casualty of balance.” She sighed. “It is the way of things. No use crying over spilled saké.” After a few moments of silence, she added, “Thank you.”

 

He bowed, standing by the door in silence as Takamura continued to smoke her kiseru pipe.


	18. Yin 16: Hell Hath No Wrath Like A Kung Fu Master

Everything was dark.

 

Slowly, the area around him began to lighten up, shifting into white, before it suddenly lit up in a burst of purity. He shielded his eyes with his arm, squinting into the brightness. He could make out the form of someone, walking in the opposite direction from him. The figure suggested it was male, and Kyo instinctively felt there was something vastly important about this man – he had to catch up with him and find out.

 

As he began to run after him, demonic, feathered half-women, half-bird creatures soared from the skies, attacking Kyo, obstructing his vision. Desperation began to claw at him, and he kept trying to shoo away the harpies, slapping and pushing them away, but they were relentless. Ahead, the figure continued to stride forwards, not acknowledging that which occurred behind him.

 

 _“NO!”_ he shouted, pushing past the now-flaming harpies, who shrieked in protest. Kyo broke into a sprint, running with all his might as the shadowy figure ventured forth, a flickering flame accompanying it. “Come back!” Kyo pled, a sense of urgency overwhelming him – who was this man? Why was he so important? Did he have a piece of the puzzle Kyo had been working together? “ _Come back! Please!!”_

 

The figure did not heed him. The man seemed to be getting further away from him the further he ran. Kyo realized that the closer he got, the further the man seemed to get. He wouldn’t be able to reach him. He slowed to a walk – perhaps if he didn’t run so fast, the terrain wouldn’t stretch as far and he could reach the man. _Slow and steady wins the race._ At his slower pace, the man seemed to be closer in range, and the flame floating beside him grew brighter and brighter.

 

 _“Who are you?!_ ” he screamed, wanting the answers that had eluded him for so long. _“Why are you here?!”_ He had a feeling he knew…a sinking suspicion he wasn’t sure he wanted confirmed, but he’d been without answers too long – for far too long. As he finally reached the man and grabbed him by the shoulders, he was shocked to find that the man was faceless – he had not a single feature on his face. A gasp wrenched itself from the boy as the man’s body began to ensnare Kyo, winding around his arm and body with what seemed like black tentacles. Struggling, he realized that the man had turned into some sort of binding on himself, and as it crept up his body, transforming into twin snakes, one white and the other black, threatening to swallow him whole, all he heard were the echoes of female voices: _“Be more careful, Kyo-kun”_ and _“How can you love me? Love does not exist.”_

 

The snakes bit him simultaneously, one at each temple, and the sharp pain caused Kyo to lose everything to the darkness.

 

***

 

There were some pleasant ways to wake up. A morning kiss, a hug, perhaps even breakfast in bed.

 

Having a ravenous, grudge-holding, man-eating lioness roar in your face was not one of them.

 

Mentally cursing, he awoke with a start, sitting up in his cot, wondering where he was before it hit him. No, literally – Wang Mu hit him, her rough paw smacking him harshly as he stared around in his bleary-eyed state. She had made no effort to avoid cutting him with her claws, and he felt blood seeping at both temples. Feeling anger at first, he realized who it was assaulting him, and a sort of fearful respect caused him to not retaliate. Looking around, he saw no sign of Long, assuming he was already at the training grounds.

 

Another roar and swipe from Wang Mu got him out of his miserable, lumpy cot, yawning heavily as he stretched himself to awareness. Dressed in his Pokémon pajamas and wearing his Super Mario Bros. slippers, Kyo tossed his Legend of Zelda blanket off him, bunching it up on top of his Devil May Cry pillow and snatching his Resident Evil towel before heading down to the hot springs for his morning bath. It was while he was bathing, relaxing to music on his Samsung Galaxy S4 (NICO Touches The Walls’s single, _Niwaka Ame ni Mo Makezu_ ) that his mind drifted to his dream last night.

 

Who had that man been? Why was he in his dreams, and what purpose had the harpies served? Did they symbolize something he wasn’t grasping? Blah, this was all so very confusing and he didn’t have the context to make sense of it yet, so it was best he didn’t think about it too much; that would only make things worse.

 

Another roar from Wang Mu had him scrambling out of the hot springs, drying himself off and donning the black-buttoned, red _tangzhuang_ long-sleeved shirt and black pants, as well as obsidian slip-on shoes. Luckily, there was also a long strip of black cloth he fashioned into a headband, tying it into a not at the back of his head and noting how it hid the Wang Mu-dealt wounds at his temples perfectly.

 

Kyo felt reinvigorated, reenergized, renewed. He was ready to learn how to kick ass. Or avoid getting his ass kicked. Either was good.

 

Led by Wang Mu to the training grounds, he noted how Sifu Lao Shi wasn’t present. Glancing up at the sun, which had risen minutes ago, he grinned to himself. ‘ _Maybe I’ve made it,’_ he thought. ‘ _Maybe I got away with coming in late._ ’

 

 _“Idiot pupil!_ ” Before he could even process the words, trying to turn around to where the sound came from, the side of a foot struck Kyo harshly at his left temple. “ _Ah!_ ” He was on the ground, holding the side of his head tenderly as his vision throbbed.

 

“ _You’re late!_ Did I not warn you?!” Despite his small stature, Sifu Lao Shi towered over Kyo in that moment, and the shadows cast on the boy from his master’s frame served to remind Kyo of what strength was belied by the appearance of the miniature senior citizen.

 

“ _Gomen nasai,_ Sifu Lao Shi! It won’t happen again!”

 

“Of course it won’t. Because you are no longer my student. Go home.”

 

“Wha…I can’t just go _home_ …”

 

“ _Go.”_

 

“But wha...why?”

 

Sifu Lao Shi’s eyes were sharp and narrow. “Because you clearly do not take me seriously. I told you plainly and clearly so that even dullards like you may be able to grasp the concept. I warned you to appear on time, and I warned you of the consequences. Do you know what your lack of punctuality tells me? It tells me that you are neither driven nor honourable nor willing to heed the words of your wise elders. It tells me that you do not have the patience nor the respect to want to learn my teachings. I am doing you a favour, yet you disrespect me by not even coming on time. Why should I waste the time on such an insolent brat?”

 

Kyo got down on his knees, bowing before his sensei. _“Apologies, Sifu Lao Shi. You are right. Please forgive me just this once. I swear to you, by the sun and the moon, that I will never disrespect you with tardiness again.”_

 

His plea was met with a swift kick to the other temple.

 

“Get up, idiot pupil. You’ve much to learn, and much suffering to endure. Do you not wonder why your _tangzhuang_ shirt is red, as opposed to white like Long’s?” For the first time since Kyo had known him, Sifu Lao Shi smiled – Kyo didn’t like it; it was toothy and unnatural. “Because it will be easier for you if you don’t see how freely your blood will flow.”

 

Fuck. Kyo hated that smile.

 

Fixing his pupil with a death glare, Sifu Lao Shi launched right into the topic. “There are many Kung Fu forms and stylings. In China, there were styles of fighting that were formed after observing the natural movement as well as offensive and defensive mannerisms of certain animals. These ‘animal styles’ have developed world renown for their unique techniques and emphasis on different areas of importance. Chief among them are these styles seven: Tiger, Crane, Leopard, Snake, Praying Mantis, Monkey and Dragon.

 

“Each style has a noble origin and a colourful history in its own right. But you are not here to learn all their histories; you are here to learn but one. Perhaps you are not so big an idiot as to not be able to tell which style’s secrets I shall be imparting on you.”

 

Sifu Lao Shi stared at him pointedly, and Kyo answered, “Seeing as I am the Son of the Snake, I’d imagine the Snake Style denomination of Kung Fu is what I will be learning.”

 

“Correct. Perhaps your stupidity isn’t as rampant as I thought.” He raised a single fist. “Regardless of whether you call it _Fanged Fist Style_ , _shéquán, or Hebiken, the Snake Fist style is one of the most respected and eloquent fighting styles in all of China, and the world over. For your ease of remembrance, I shall refer to it as hebiken from now on. Though it may be studied and applied extensively in China, there are few practitioners of the art outside these borders. Therefore, you may have some small advantage by way of the element of surprise – and since hebiken relies on countering your opponents’ defense and striking at opportune moments from places they do not expect, this tips the scales in your favour even further.” Kyo covered a laugh by coughing, wondering if that pun had been intended. Sifu Lao Shi ignored him, a fact for which Kyo was grateful. “What did you do back home in Tokyo? What was your ambition?”_

_“I was a student, but I also worked as an acupuncturist.” He hesitated, before answering the second half, “I was in school to be a doctor, with a minor in The Magic of Mythologies.”_

_“I did not ask what you were in school to become. I asked you what your ambition was. What did you want to become? I want to know your dream, not your parents’.”_

_Kyo winced; the old man had seen right through him. “…I want to see the stars and skies. I want to know what is up there, what is beyond, what I used to look up to when I was a child, and why I am down here, left with a big question and no answers. Perhaps there will be answers in the heavens. Even if I find a single conclusion, just one certainty, I will be content.”_

 

Sifu Lao Shi appraised him in silence. _‘This boy…he has the makings of a great philosopher, a great teacher, a great mind. Just as he may do so in the future to others, right now, he has a fresh mind that needs some moulding.’_

 

“Very well, idiot pupil. Your time as an acupuncturist will do you well. I’m assuming, as you performed such a job, you have intricate knowledge of the body and pressure points?” Kyo nodded, and he continued. “That information will serve you well as the Serpent’s Son. As the representative of the Snake of the Zodiac, and as a practitioner of the hebiken, an intimate knowledge of the body, yours and otherwise, will be very beneficial to you.

 

“Now the first lesson in hebiken: if there is an opportunity to escape, take it. While it is brave to stand your ground, it is not _wise_ to fight the enemy in an area where you are not superior. Hebiken does not rely on strength, nor does it rely on endurance or bravery. Hebiken, like the fighting styles of actual serpents, relies on the wisdom to strike when optimal and escape when opportune. Hebiken does not focus on attacking: rather, it will, like the snake, avoid combat unless cornered and provoked – when all options are exhausted, then you must _counterattack._

 

“There will be those with whom fights are unavoidable. There will be those who will seek to strike _first,_ strike _fast_ , and strike _strong._ I will teach you how to deal with those people. Recall how you avoided Wang Mu for as long as you could, before you deemed the situation necessary of your standing and fighting. How you dealt with Wang Mu is how you should deal with a majority of your enemies – perhaps that should have been a red flag as to your Zodiac affinity. Strike quickly, but only when you have reason to. Sacrifice strength for speed. Properly utilized, in conjunction with your elemental affinity of fire, you will be quite the threat. It is then, when you have mastered hebiken, that you may choose to dictate whether or not your personal fighting style will place more emphasis on bravery and striking first, or whether you will take a pacifist approach and strike only when necessary. When the time comes, you must choose wisely. It will be your choice, but recall this: bravery begets victory.”

 

Kyo nodded, bowing.  “What’s next?”

 

Sifu Lao Shi raised his index and middle finger on the elevated hand, beckoning to Kyo to come forth. In his open palm, there were two pebbles. Eyeing him warily, under Sifu Lao Shi’s stern nod, he snatched the two pebbles out of the elder man’s hand, grinning to himself.

 

“That was easy,” he proclaimed proudly. Sifu Lao Shi smiled.

 

 

“This is the pebble exercise you’ve been wary about.” Upon Kyo’s questioning eyebrow, wondering how he could possibly know that, Sifu Lao Shi reminded him, “I know _everything_ that goes on in this land. Now that you have ‘successfully liberated’ the pebbles from my inexorable grasp, place one in each of your slip-on shoes. Then we shall begin.”

 

‘ _That’s it?’_ Kyo thought, doing as Sifu Lao Shi asked, ‘ _this is the infamous pebble exercise of which I’ve heard so much about? This is nothing.’_

 

Almost as if reading his thoughts, Sifu Lao Shi’s smile grew wider. _Damn._

 

Lowering his posture, leaning back and raising his arms, hands flattened out like snake-heads – right one above his head, the other by his chest, one leg forward and the other a little ways behind – Sifu Lao Shi assumed the position of hebiken. Turning his right ‘snake head’ hand into a beckoning gesture, he instructed Kyo on what to do.

 

“Engage me in confrontation. Observe my _reactions_ to your _actions_. Keep a critical eye, for I strike as quick as a viper. Begin!”

 

Every kick, every punch, every lunge, grab and attack was countered and evaded with minimal effort; a duck here, a hand blocking there, a leap and so on. Kyo quickly realized that the pebbles in his shoes were there to be a hindrance to him, poking and rubbing his feet raw – it was particularly painful when he leapt and landed. He grit his teeth and bore it; this was surely a test of endurance from Sifu Lao Shi. He wouldn’t disappoint him. Pushing past his pain, he kept up the assault, but it was about three hours later that he finally had to put a stop to his assault.

 

“I can’t go on anymore,” Kyo panted, collapsing to the ground and removing his shoes in a hurry. “My feet are killing me – I tried to last as long as I could, Sifu Lao Shi, I’m sorry my endurance isn’t good enough.”

 

“Your endurance is fine,” Sifu Lao Shi corrected. “But that wasn’t the point of this test, which you failed to pass.”

 

Kyo paused just as he was about to toss the pebbles from his shoes away. “But…I don’t understand...I thought you wanted me to endure the pain and work through it?”

 

“I never once said such. Your assumptions caused you enormous pain with no pay off – you should note that assumptions and presumptions are just as deadly as swords.” Sifu Lao Shi opened his palm, revealing he was once again in possession of the pebbles Kyo had been holding moments before. _‘What the hell?! When’d he get them? I didn’t see him at all!’_ Kyo wondered.

 

“No, this was a test in wisdom. You had a hindrance, a physical limiter that inhibited your ability to perform optimally. Sometimes, it is necessary to push through the pain and is, in the heat of the moment, not as important as the task up ahead. However, this was a simple training exercise that was designed to get an intricate look at your default thought process. When a hindrance is imposed upon you, whether by order of your superiors or otherwise, the wisest course of action is to remove it if it interferes with your ability to do the task you were assigned. That was your test. Your objective was to see if you had the wits about you to disregard orders that interfered with your ability to obtain your goal, and do what would be best to ensure success for the mission, regardless of whether or not you had to disobey rules to do it.”

 

Sifu Lao Shi fixed him with an inquisitive stare. “Why limit your power to do your best because you were told to do so? If your interests and your superior’s interests are aligned, and they give you a contradicting order that would compromise or increase the difficulty of obtaining the objective, disregard it – the Snake is an independent and wise creature. Wisdom is the ability to use discretion between when you should act and when you should think, and you have failed to display the level of autonomy that is typical of the Snake. ‘ _Vision without action is a daydream; action without vision is a nightmare.’_ That is important, because should you lose contact with your superiors or those who have instructed you in your task, or should you run into unforeseen trouble, you need to have the state of mind in which to think for yourself, assess the situation, analyze possible courses of action, and select the best compromise between most reward and least risk. That is the mindset of a Snake. That is what you need to learn.”

 

Kyo shook his head, bitter disappointment washing over him. All that pain, all that effort, and still he had failed to impress his sensei. Sifu Lao Shi caught sight of his disappointment, tears streaming down his cheeks, and forcefully threw his slipper at Kyo’s head. Knocked to the ground, the boy stared up at the short man paradoxically towering above him.

 

“ _IDIOT PUPIL! You think you have the luxury of feeling sorry for yourself?! You think that a Child of the Zodiac, much less the shrewd and intelligent Snake, has the time to cry? You think you can afford to sit there and weep your little heart out and mope around and do nothing productive? And you call yourself the Son of the Snake? What a joke! The_ true _Serpent’s Son would take this as an opportunity to learn from its mistakes and better itself – it would never make the same mistake twice. And yet here you are, tears streaming, giving yourself a pity break as though you are some special little snowflake who is entitled to break down and cry when the going gets tough. You are the Serpent’s Son. You have potential, great potential, and your mind could easily be the smartest out of the Zodiac. Do not weep for failure, learn from it. Ensure that you become wiser than before, for your experiences are the only way to better yourself. You think I’m a cruel teacher? Experience is a cruel teacher: it gives the test before presenting the lesson.”_ He huffed, calming down before speaking firmly once more. “Learn from this, Kyoji of Japan. I will not tell you this again.” He waved him off. “You are dismissed for today.”  He glanced at his pupil once more, before disappearing instantly.

 

Fu Shi lumbered forth, nuzzling Kyo’s hand, urging him to climb up on his back. The boy nodded, hobbling with difficulty to the lion’s side before straddling him and letting himself be taken away. The next thing Kyo knew, he was chest-deep in warm, relaxing waters. Sighing, he remained in a drowsy state, not quite nodding off, thoughts of Sifu Lao Shi’s rant mulling over in his mind like the waters in the hot springs. ‘ _Maybe he was right,’_ Kyo thought. ‘ _Maybe I should take this as an opportunity to learn how not to make the same mistake again. After all, if I wish to stare the stars in the eyes, I can’t afford to quit just because it gets too hot.’_

 

“Recovering from the pebble test, I see.” Soft footfalls approached Kyo, and the boy peeked to catch an image of a well-dressed young man in a suit with a shock of blond hair. Sonic removed his leather white dress shoes and socks, placing his feet in the warm water. He smiled at the boy, a reassuring, genuine smile. “I’m told it’s quite the bitch and a half.”

 

Kyo groaned. “You’ve no idea.”

 

“Actually, I do.” Kyo opened his eyes at this. “I had to go through a similar exercise with Haruhiko-sama. I’d presume he was more lenient and forgiving than Sifu Lao Shi, but I assure you, I’d imagine that I can understand what you’re feeling right now.”

 

Kyo closed his eyes, sinking a little lower into the warm, soothing waters. It felt so good to just lie there.

 

“Did you know,” Sonic began, “that these waters are magical?” As Kyo perked an eyebrow in response, Sonic continued, “I’m serious. It’s said that these waters were blessed by a witch, and created from the tears of phoenixes. Much like how phoenixes can regenerate, their tears also embody this ability to be imparted upon others.” He nodded towards toward Kyo’s feet. “You’ll most certainly find them healed by now.”

 

Raising a foot out of the water, Kyo found his remark to be true. “I’m sitting in phoenix tears? That’s kinda cool…”

 

Sonic nodded, idly kicking water with his feet. “There’s a reason these hot springs are here; I’d wager it’d be impossible to survive or heal enough normally to withstand Sifu Lao Shi’s intense training otherwise. Though, after a bout with Sifu Lao Shi, I have my doubts as to whether or not it’s only your physical wounds that need healing.” Casting a careful turquoise eye over Kyo, Sonic studied the boy before him. “He’s got good intentions, Kyo, even if his methods are questionable. Despite that, his methods _work_. I do apologize for how he can be, but as with any medicine, the more bitter the better. Think of him as an unpleasant bout of fever that will get worse before becoming better. And when it does get better, it’ll be all worth it, don’t you think?”

 

“I suppose…” Kyo was secretly thankful for Sonic’s kind counsel. “What brought you here?”

 

Sonic smiled. “Lady Takamura requests your presence. The day is not done, and you’ve still got much to learn.” He removed his feet from the water, getting ready to put on his socks and shoes once more. “I suggest you get ready quickly. You’re going to want to learn this.”

 

“Wait, she’s teaching me things too? I suppose it’s the more spiritual side to all this stuff?”

 

“You’re quite perceptive, aren’t you?”

 

Kyo nodded, and in a short time, he was dressed and ready, escorted by Sonic to the lush courtyard garden. There, they found Takamura sitting on the benches by the rose gardens, viewing the clouds overhead. The sky was a brilliant blue, bright white clouds floating aimlessly above. She seemed to be staring at them in concentration, focused onyx eyes flickering between the shapeless clouds. As they approached, Takamura called them over, eyes still focused upon the sky.

 

“What’s she doing?” Kyo whispered to Sonic.

 

“I’m cloud-gazing,” Takamura replied, to Kyo’s surprise; he hadn’t thought she’d heard him. “You’d be surprised at the amount of subtle omens Mother Nature gives us, provided we’ve got eyes as sharp as a hawk’s to notice them.” Feeling Kyo’s inquisitive gaze, she answered. “Aeromancy – the study of the clouds and weather. A useful art, if you know what to look for.”

 

“You, however, you’re here to learn another –mancy. But before we get to that, you need to learn how to manipulate and control your chi.”

 

Kyo nodded, and Takamura finally turned her gaze upon him. “What do I need to do?”

 

“First,” Takamura began, “you need to relax. There’s a reason I sent Sonic to locate you right after you slipped into the healing hot springs: you would be at a state where you felt the most ease and the less stress and tension. For a beginner, this will be most helpful.” Pulling out her kiseru, she lit it, copious amounts of smoke forming into a shadow, smokey silhouette of a man. The man was riddled with innumerous green dots, and from these dots flowed a seemingly blue liquid.

 

“As I’ve told you before, within each person’s body is a network of interconnecting points of power, miniature ley lines from which the very essence of life in energy form is produced and transferred between them. It is the reason you are still alive – depletion of your chi is equivocal to and often constitutes death. Furthermore, it is said that the soul is nothing more than an exceptionally-powerful collection of chi within you; given that death occurs when the soul leaves the body – or, alternatively, death is the cause of the departure of the soul – this makes a startling amount of sense.”

 

“Chi is important, sure, but how do I benefit from that?”

 

“As I said,” Takamura noted, “everyone is born with the potential for the mystic arts, but to prevent injury, most of the chi nodes are located at your pressure points, or _tenketsu._ If you manage to control the opening and closing of your tenketsu, you will be able to learn chi manipulation, and turn the invisible, intangible substance into tangible, physical energies that can have countless applications.” Continuing, she said, “Given that you were skilled in acupuncture, you’re well aware of the pressure points in the human body, and the chi points as a result. Chi is produced by the organs, most notably the stomach and the heart. Therefore, it is possible to regain lost chi by replenishing your health, usually by means of food which is converted into energy and chi. It is also possible, with time and training, to increase the amount of chi one’s body is capable of storing and producing at any given time, though this takes a lot of effort on the part of the trainee. Your will must be like iron, if you wish your body to be so as well.”

 

“What can you do with chi?” Kyo asked, curious for a demonstration.

 

Gesturing to the smokey, shadowy man Takamura said, “I moulded my chi and imbued it with the smoke, bending it to my will. With the chi in the smoke, I can manipulate it as I please, for it is one of the many techniques I know. With proper chi control, you too will be able to manipulate and generate many effects and techniques.”

 

“You have displayed a talent for chi control to the point you could channel your chi from your hand into the card after solely being instructed in it,” Sonic elaborated. “You are also aware, again, of the pressure points on the body, and have already had a near-death experience at least one time that we know of when you encountered Kuchisake-Onna and encased her in a ball of flames, despite it being rainy outside. I have no doubt you’ll grasp this lesson quickly, Kyo-san. You certainly seem to be turning out as a prodigy.”

 

“Beginner’s luck,” Kyo said. “Maybe Lady Luck’s smiling down on me.”

 

Takamura smiled.

 

“Chi can be utilized for a variety of uses. Suppose you are in the wild, alone and night has settled. Should you be attacked, whether by animals or other enemies, those of a weaker will can be scared off or incapacitated by the mere pressure of your chi. You would have to release a large amount of chi all at once, in a sharp, quick burst in order to achieve this effect. Watch as I demonstrate.”

 

Sonic whistled, which instantly had a negative effect on the animals nearby. Amongst them, a rhinoceros and a bull by the serene pond turned, killer instinct radiating from them in waves. Bucking at the ground, they began to charge at both Takamura and Sonic, both of whom smiled demurely and waited patiently. It was when they were near that Kyo felt an immense air pressure in the surrounding area – Takamura’s and Sonic’s hair were ruffling, and their clothes were rippling with the force of their expelled chi. The aura about them caused the animals to falter, and where killer instinct had been moments before, pure, unadulterated terror was on full display. Stumbling over themselves in their attempt to get away, the animals ran from Takamura and Sonic as quickly as they could, disappearing into the horizon.

 

Kyo himself was slick with sweat, heart throbbing and pupils dilated. “W-w-what…the hell…was that…?!”

 

“A useful trick that you will learn in time.” Takamura pointed at him. “At any rate, much like myself, you have an affinity for the element of fire. Typically, this manifests itself in certain personality traits, such as impatience hot-headedness, and a violent temper. Conversely, it also indicates those who are passionate, nurturing and have a warm disposition. Do you recall when you yelled at me in my saké shop for my supposed inaction in pursuing Hatsumomo after she had been kidnapped? It brought to mind how Hatsumomo suspected you may have had an affinity for fire. The cards certainly seemed to fit. This is good, Kyo, for there are many things that you can do with fire.

 

“You are an interesting case. You are the Serpent’s Son, reserved, wise, focused on reaction instead of action. Yet your element, much like the Snake’s, is fire, passionate, wild, unpredictable. You must strike a careful balance between them, walking the line with a sort of finesse and class as a result of the wisdom you shall gain in this life. The yin and yang is strong in this one.” Takamura smiled. “Lucky for you, the Snake is all about the wisdom. Let us hope that it is hereditary, Son of the Snake.”

 

Kyo grinned, beginning to warm up to the idea of being a hero. “This sounds like a lot of fun. What applications does fire have?”

 

In response, Takamura looked at him pointedly before spontaneously combusting, erupting into flames that incinerated her within seconds.

 

“ _No!_ ” Kyo screamed, mouth agape at the spontaneity of the fire. He couldn’t blink, couldn’t think, couldn’t believe it. ”No, _no! Takamura!_ ”

 

“The Snake always did have a thing for theatrics, didn’t it, Sonic?”

 

Kyo whipped his head about, spotting Takamura quite a bit away from them, alive and well. She erupted into flames again, disappearing, before appearing in a burst of flames once more. The boy before her was speechless.

 

“By vitalizing every part of your body with chi,” Takamura explained, “you are capable of enabling it to manifest in your preferred elemental proclivity, literally becoming your element and teleporting to wherever you’d like. There are limits, of course: you must have your destination clearly and firmly visualized in your mind’s eye, some place you’ve been before or know well enough about to accurately depict it. It takes practice, patience, and power. One of the more advanced techniques, but it certainly is handy.”

 

Kyo considered. “Why can’t you teleport into the Yakuza’s lair and rescue Hatsumomo?”

 

“They have multiple lairs,” Sonic clarified. “There is no way of knowing which one Hatsumomo-san is being kept in, assuming she’s still even in Japan. On the other hand, Misaki knows where Takamura-sama’s shop is, as it’s a public, open place – it’s the only place Takamura-sama and her associates would keep shop. They seemingly have no idea about Sifu Lao Shi’s mountaintop abode. By merit of that restriction, our inability to teleport within their lair due to not knowing what it looks like is the same token by which they cannot teleport here. It’s a double-edged sword, but it’s fair.”

 

“Speaking of swords,” Kyo remembered, “what happened to that katana sword in Takamura’s shop? You didn’t leave it behind, did you?”

 

“No,” Takamura admitted. “I keep it on me at all times, after your curiosity nearly got you killed. Worry not about that sword – you’ve got your own worries to deal with. That aside, we’ve got to go through basic menial exercises to teach you how to manipulate your chi. We’ll start with the breathing exercises, and then the mental ones. Inhale, exhale, take a deep breath, hold it, and feel a connection to the life-sustaining substance you take for granted. Realize how important nature is, and realize the importance of the breath. You inhale air, absorb oxygen, and expel the carbon dioxide you produce in exchange. All in one, simple breath. You don’t even think about breathing, it’s an inherent action, subconscious and subtle, though you do have voluntary control over it. Controlling your chi gates is like that: you have inherent control over them, but you will need to train to better your manual control.

 

“Think of how without air, there can be no fire. Focus on your breathing, learn to take precise, controlled breaths, and learn to master peace by controlling your piece of mind like you control your inhale, exhale. Converge your chi and breath together, and expel it forcefully from your mouth. If you do it correctly, you can convert your mere breath into a flame-throwing weapon.”

 

“Even I have trouble with this one,” Sonic noted. “I’m not quite up to Takamura-sama’s level, 

but once you pull of this tricky technique, you’ll be able to advance onto more complicated techniques. Remember: inhale, feel, exhale, feel.”

 

The afternoon dragged on, with Kyo focusing on breath-control exercises. He felt silly, as though he were practicing how to stay calm during a birthing procedure. Still, he kept at it, absent-mindedly flicking the spark-wheel on his green lighter. Eyes closed, breathing intently, he spent most of the day trying to clear his messy mind, jumbled thoughts trying to push their way back into the centre of his consciousness. No matter how hard he tried, visions of that mysterious man in his dreams, Kikyou’s upset visage and Hatsumomo’s smiling face kept pushing to the forefront of his thoughts. Finally, he heaved a sigh, prompting Takamura to raise an eyebrow in question.

 

“I had a weird dream last night,” he revealed, and Takamura appeared more alert at his words. He spent the next few minutes explaining what happened to the best of his recollection, and Takamura’s onyx eyes seemed to be darting between his eyes, watching him in scrutiny. When he was done, she said nothing.

 

“Well?”

 

“You’re sure you saw a mysterious man transform into twin snakes, white and black, before striking you? And _her_ and Hatsumomo’s voices?”

 

Kyo nodded, thankful for her tactfulness in not mentioning Kikyou’s name, or referring to her as his ex-girlfriend. “Yes, I remember that very well.”

 

“Show me to your pillow.” Takamura stood up, sweeping her kimono about her as she made her way to Kyo and Long’s room, followed by Sonic. Perplexed, Kyo followed after them. Once there, they found Long lounging about in his bed, eating spoonfuls of peanut butter from a jar. Scrambling to sit up and hide the jar behind his back, Long looked like a deer caught in headlights.

 

“It’s not what it looks like, I swear!” he spluttered. “You can’t tell Sifu Lao Shi!” Takamura completely ignored him, instead reaching for the Devil May Cry pillow case Kyo pointed out. With her kiseru, she produced a smokey cloud that formed into a solid computer, one with a small USB cable she plugged into the actual pillow. Kyo didn’t know that could be done – obviously it had a purpose. On the screen, a folder entitled ‘DREAMS.EXE’ popped up, and she double-clicked it, opening a program that opened yet another folder. Within were dates, and Kyo recognized as being within the last few days.

 

“…Are those my…dreams? How…?”

 

“It’s a dream catcher. I know a thing or two about techno-sorcery.” Her answer was short and simple, and she clicked the video with the date of the night before. Instantly, a video opened up, and the group watched on with rapt attention as Kyo’s dream played out on the computer screen before them. The man, the voices, the snakes, all appeared just as Kyo said. Once the dream finished playback, the Daughter of the Dragon looked to be deep in thought, her eyes narrowed as it so often did when she was lost in contemplation.

 

“Does it mean something?” Kyo ventured. “Something important?”

 

“I fear,” Takamura began, “that it just might.”

 

 _“Dun dun DUN.”_ Everyone looked at Long, another spoonful of peanut butter in his mouth. He shrugged. “What? I thought this was a dramatic moment.”

 

“Dreams are very important,” Takamura explained, not acknowledging Long’s comment. “They can be visions, prophecies, tales of things to come. They can be memories of before, a past life, or some event that happened long ago. Properly interpreted, it can serve as a warning. Dreams usually have a purpose. Like cloud-watching, all one must do is learn what to look for.”

 

“What are we looking at here?” Kyo inquired. “Who’s the man and what are the snakes? What about their voices?”

 

“We will find out in due time. If I had to guess, however, I’d wager that at the very least, the harpies symbolize something holding you back from moving forward. Whether internal or external, there is something preventing you from moving on with your life and finding out what you seek. I suspect the man represents that desire for knowledge that is constantly eluding you, but that’s simply a guess. Only you will be able to know for sure.” She dismissed the smoke with a wave of her sensu fan. “For now, let us focus on your spiritual journey.

 

“Aside from learning from a shaman, who specializes in possession, I as an itako specialize in summoning spirits. I’m not sure you’re a suitable type for this branch of the mystic arts, and it wouldn’t do to have too much on your plate at once; traditionally, this is an art that I’ve found women to be far more proficient in than men. To have a male itako is a very rare, very uncommon phenomena, though they do exist. You need to become proficient in one area before you end up as a ‘Jack of All Trades, Master of None.’ It is better to do a single job proficiently than it is to do many ineffectively.

 

“More to the point, you’ve been practicing your breathing exercises, now let’s practice actual elemental manifestation. Inhale, feel, and when you exhale, focus on a particularly strong emotion; this is because fire is dependent upon a passionate thought or feeling to erupt from you, and it helps you mould your chi with a mindset that is complimentary to your elemental affiliation. Fire is passionate, proud, untamed. Think of a strong ideal or memory, and when you mix your chi with your breathing patterns, focus on that emotion. Try your hand at it now.”

 

With closed eyes and measured breathing, Kyo’s thought of his source, focusing on that thought and expelling a sharp burst of brilliant red flames from his mouth. The heat came in a rush, warm and relieving. It felt as though a great pressure from within his chest had been released along with the flames. It was a good feeling.

 

Takamura nodded proudly. Sonic clapped. Long just stared in horror as his jar of peanut butter melted through his fingers. Kyo breathed in slowly, opening his eyes at last, as he turned to look at Takamura. “Did…did I just…?”

 

“Breathe fire?” She was smiling rather brightly. “Yes, you did. On your first attempt at that. You’ve shown prodigious talent, Kyo.” With a deft wave, a bottle of saké and a couple of wine glasses appeared in her hands, accompanied by a puff of smoke. “To celebrate, let us drink to your accomplishment.” Sonic poured the drinks for them, a small amount of the deep, purple liquid for Kyo and a full glass for Takamura. The itako raised her glass in toast to Kyo.

 

“To the continued success of the Prodigious Progeny, the Serpent’s Son, Kyoji of Japan!”

 

He really did it. He managed to breathe fire. Clinking his cup against Takamura’s before taking a deep sip, Kyo couldn’t help but feel as though he was accomplishing something – as though he was one step closer to rescuing Hatsumomo and tackling on the big bads yet to come. The drink tasted bitter, Kyo noted, assuming that to be the reason why Sonic had given him so little.

 

He set down his glass with a satisfied sigh, and caught Takamura’s eyes – was it his imagination, or had she been gazing at him intently as he drank his saké? Perhaps she was thinking about her previous wards. Kyo wondered how he stacked up in comparison to them, and if that’s what Takamura was contemplating as well.

 

Through the window they could see the sun beginning to set. Kyo sighed in relief; he was going to be able to get back to bed and off to sleep soon. He asked Sonic for some more saké, to which the blond man acquiesced, giving him a little more. It had been a long day but he’d made it through, he had a purpose, and he had those who wished to see him succeed.

For the first time in a long time, Kyo felt something he had denied himself: safety and belonging.

 

He was amongst family now.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll update at least once a week from now on. Perhaps Monday or Wednesday or Friday or the weekend. 
> 
> As always, reviews, feedback, kudos, bookmarks and sharing are encouraged and welcome!


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